Quiet Grace

There are times the cold and dark both break,
and something rare slips through,
a quiet warmth we did not make,
but somehow know is true.

It comes without a grand display,
no trumpet, no defense,
just someone choosing, in that day,
a simple kindness meant.

We feel it rising in the chest,
then burning in the eyes,
as if the world, for just one breath,
lets fall its old disguise.

No careful words, no measured part,
no need to comprehend,
just one small reaching, heart to heart,
no reason to pretend.

And for a moment, clear and bright,
the weight we carry bends,
and we can see, in that brief light,
how distance finally ends.

It fades, as moments always do,
and leaves us standing there,
but something in us knows it true,
and knows how rare that care.

So mark it down, that quiet grace,
that light we never meant,
the sudden softness in that place
that felt like heaven sent.

—Bryan Brouwer