Rave On
Waterfalls of grace
Rave on, Karenina. ER doctors, master butchers, carved, trimmed, prepped and packaged your diagnosis into fine cuts of pain.
Rave on, Karenina. During the accident, your bones must have felt like crystal shattering.
You’re a stubborn warrior, Icarus bursting skyward with steel wings, yearning to exceed limits, striking at the sun before angel wings melt in the foundry furnace, spiraling downward into ocean where molten steel cools.
Rave on, Karenina. Your wounded poems cascade, waterfalls baptizing with grace. Your daughter’s fingers translate deep into the night, hearts entwined, morning glory climbing a garden trellis, unfurling full bloom in early morning. Love on, Karenina.
Pray on, Karenina. God’s grace: working even now, outside the audible spectrum, the high trill of an angel, working even now, like ultraviolet light, or the unseen brilliance of spiritual realms. Pray on, Karenina.
