Today, in a breeze, on a cemetery bench;
and underneath a tree
I heard, or saw, or felt something.
I think that "Something" was Grace;
though I can't be sure
(I think that "Grace" is the wrong word).
This thing I can't quite name was very
non-threatening, and boldly un-threatened
by the darkening night in my soul;
This feeling (or presence) of Grace (or whatever I've called it)
didn't pick a certain spot. It didn't claim any land
or loudly announce itself; it simply
As if It were waiting to be noticed. By me?
No. But maybe.
Oh! It seems...over there...that tree.
Is it the tree? Or is it the space in the air between that tree and me?
It's something....there's something here.
It's the breeze,
or the light that moves inside it,
or the air over the dirt below the bench and me.
tell me I'm not entirely mad;
that perhaps I might not be
But would a crazy person
...feel stared at by a tree?
Or do the sanest folks feel
made aware of by the leaves?
No, I know that I'm not crazy
(not by professional standards, at least).
And yet, no matter how I place myself on the
the air seems quite moved
...to meet me.
I wonder if I see in the wind
what I want to see,
or if I see what's actually there.
Or if I see in a tree what
I want to see,
or if the tree (or the space between the tree and me)
is, truly, aware.