the poet-friend

I heard it from a poet
once
that there was no following
because
grace was dispensed
by
those who claimed authority
to give it
and
by their terms

I’m imagining a water-cooler with
a foreign hand on
the tap
a line that goes away
from
there of those to drink
who
are bestowed with an upside-down
triangle of a cup
inside
of which are stips of official
pardon and
toward
the price of another metaphor
a ticket
to
the show

while grace if free
and
has no agency but God
if I may say
three parts to
one

with grace soaring everywhere
and everywhere it’s
needed

to cover and to heal as
that song-balm
the sin-
sick soul
and why not fly by music
of
the spheres
an angel chorus to announce
and
to remind us

freely given is the love and salvation
of the Lord

and
is the vision made
the poetry
perverse
and I don’t know but that it’s better than
the tyranny of will that despots
try
and yet prohibited by better will
and inside each
of us
a part
as if to fuse with our own
elements
our spirits to
save

grace
angels
our own will
and we are saved
if
against the world
and
those disillusioned and me
angered in
their
favor for who dispenses
grace
and blessing but
the Lord

and not the red
and black
the gold of breaking majesty
while
what we have
on our own
even alone if need be
faith
and love
forever

freely
grace like justice flowing
even better

c l couch


photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash