The Diminutive of Grace

Tianjin, Beijing, and Hubei Provence, China 

December 6, 2012; October 1, 2014

For Xiang Wén Yàn (Gracie) and her father, Xiang Heng-Zhu – Grace and Peace

恩典
It can come anywhere,

which is why I travel,

why I make myself

stranger, bumbling

about the far ends,

seeking the epicenter

where subterranean  

grace probes thin places

and could even emerge

from the traffic of Tianjin

which, of course, it does

though we could not

know her just yet, caught

in the converging weave

of bikes and buses, trucks

and cars, each urgent

to shoot through now

to the next knot, and the next

in the wan afternoon light

of a jet-lagged Sunday.

恩典

Travel teaches hard truth –

Great Walls can be blocked

by blizzards, blogspot by

censors, blue sky by smog,

and old men mired in ideology

can meet in museums

by the mausoleum of Mao

to choose among themselves.

  

But Tao blows which way

it will and grace still flows

through whom it will.

Through tiny frames

born to mouse,

or to dragon, farm girls

from Hubei who pack fire

into forty kilos, carrying

a father’s dream through

far cities, sustained

by songs of the Silver River

dividing celestial lovers

on dark nights far from

pavement. By small dogs

and bright days following

father through fields

feeding on stories, lessons

fit for weary souls – When

days grow hard, remember

well the ones who hunger,

mountain children far

from school. And dear

Wén Yàn, do not forget

to feed your buffalo.

恩典
I can still hear her song

soft in my ear, subtle

tones dancing gracefully

around my comprehension.

  

And I can still feel

her coarse silk warmth

resting on my right shoulder

in a tight bus barreling

through what time

we shared, what spirit

that smiles across culture

and binds the wounds of Babel.

恩典
This is why I travel, why

I cross the terminus

into tomorrow, to talk

in darkened halls the idiom

of equations, sharing

PowerPoints and polite

smiles, software suffused

with life-blood, coded bits

of mind, bequeathed.

But Gracie, did I never 
lecture on the math 
of absolute? A fraction

of the infinite
is infinite itself;

the diminutive 
of Grace is grace.