Grace

What happened to the old, solid world Hand carved of walnut and mahogany? Give me the old polished wood Give me the shadows and shining, Slanted stalactite of sun Through random panes of stained glass Wood floors that announce the shifting of weight Windows that whine with a sudden gale Some old books with pale flowers pressed Lovingly, between the pages, Stain of evaporated dew Only touched by the gentlest of fingers Give me scents with some soul left in them; Real magic potions, because love used to be real Not dead things, Imitating what once exhaled It's own sweet breath, But only if you came close enough What will we do when the genuine is forgotten Where will we go again not to forget? Let us be baptized again and again Made hallowed, by the grace of memories Made immortal, by the grace of love Enduring, by the grace of time.