What is it about grace,
you give it
and give it
and in its place
rises more,
within you, more?
A waterfall.
A brokenness,
then a gentle place. 

What is it about love,
you search for it
and cannot find it,
so you wring out your heart
and write from it
a song
and lay it on the chest
of the dying?
And from the quiet,
a trickle,
a stream,
a river,
an ocean…
What is it, that grows
and grows
more in the ashes?
A trodden rose,
then a field
blooming
from its seeds,
free
from those long gone
who cast it aside. 

What is it,
that makes us know
something exists
outside
of all that pain
and failed attempts,
that somehow
there is a love that wins?

What makes us
brave enough to find it?