from this, all came spinning forth
casting stars like motes in eyes.
Then came the spiral of the orbs;
in the midst of the wheel Grace dances
turning like the grist stones grinding grains.
Dance the ring, ‘round and ‘round,
milled into dust, cleaving all bonds;
learning only love and surrender.
Each spins, off-center and out of balance
- moths without flames, hounds without scent
loving Love, but without the lover.
Who has heard Grace entreat
‘forgive me, how long shall I endure?’
spiraling, isolated, alone in incomplete cycles?
Until no longer me and mine,
when the stars and stones cease
spinning Grace with sudden stillness.