Grace.

morning. Monday.

summer running south

and laughing.

coffee strong,

head fogged with

something I can never explain

listening to Jeff Buckley

and wondering where people like

him would have gone without

their early deaths

wondering where I'd be right

now if I'd made one less right

move

one less

mistake

one less split decision

I could have taken any other

freeway exit as a kid

and wound up with a

completely different future

or without one

or worse, with the fear

of losing

and putting the words

on hold for a

real job

but no need to

think about that

-nearly 44 years of age

my elbows resting on the marble of this

desk, words being written to send

across a page of technology

listening to Jeff Buckley's Grace, a flawless

album

a perfect debut for him

1994

into the world

not yet so fast and

forgetful

sitting here now

absorbing the vocals

the one-breath of the

album, the beauty

sitting here, still, after all

the years and damage

after all the bad and

all the good

and all the waiting,

sitting here, still,

the wind of

the world blowing through

the walls

writing

into

autumn.