Shock in Awe

Writers pique. Photograph

 

He spoke to me of grace

and said it was ‘second hand’

 

I found that hard to understand

when words came so easily

 

The air he used he said ‘was spent’

just turned and turned around

 

 like a soft breeze

that could threaten storms

 

and there I was, as if

in the presence of a prophet

 

Spell-bound in admiration

for a weaver of thoughts

 

but he just smiled and said’

‘It’s a wonderful thing’

 

and left me flailing

in an alphabet. Like a dope.

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