Wild Grace
A flock of pheasants gathers near,
Their color vivid, wild yet clear.
Though tamed by fence and human claim,
They still recall from whence they came.
The forest whispers in their wings—
No prison holds the song it brings.
A kiss absurd, a joy unplanned,
A boy delights with open hand.
This fat old woman, round with grace,
Becomes the soul in fleshly place.
What cannot fit in mind or frame
May yet redeem us just the same.
