! In The Spirit Of Rumi - 70 - Grace Poem by Michael Shepherd

Like a fine cloth for the table:
its strength, its appropriateness,
the twist and spring of its fibers,
the love and care of its making,
(and how eagerly it launders!)
all reveal themselves even while
you’re unfolding it, shaking it out;

while you’re laying it with a graceful gesture
like a magician whisking away the magic cloth
to reveal a transformation… like
a bullfighter dramatically spreading before the bull
the blood-coloured illusion of a prey…
like a mother quietly prepares a meal…
like the morning or the evening mist
rolling over the edge of a mountain plateau…
like a gentle rain in Spring falling as mercy itself…

it gives up the air trapped under it as you laid it down,
like the heart's lungs surrendering to peace
with a grateful sigh;
and as you smoothe it out on the table
it murmurs love to your hand;
and as you stand back,
it shines; awaits whatever may come to it,
waits as if it had always been
just where it is now
grace