Do we know the beauty we create?
Each word, act dropped like paint to the canvas.
All pigment, all hue, all color run together.
Brightness unclutched by restraining hands.
A madness of unfinished Intention,
There muddled until flashing into recognition.
(Unwritten design drawn from us like music
From a deep-souled violin and laid on air)
A momentless grace captured only in the deep well,
Drawn up from below, emerging by its own divine right,
The pattern underpinned evokes its gasp,
The stunned genuflection,
The artless prayer,
And drops again content with this momentary humility.
RootsRewound 