Agape Grace

By Ken Woodley

Neither of us saw it coming

that late, but not too late, afternoon in Galilee

by the sea at sunset,

the light skipping across the water

as if someone had thrown it 

from the other side of the sky.

It just happened.

Neither of us could stop it.

Neither of us wanted to.

The light shining to us.

Then through us.

Completely.

A heart-on collision.

There were so many broken pieces

that felt wondrously brand new.

My hands were at the end of your wrists.

Your fingers were at the end of my arms.

We started to put ourselves back together again

the way we’d been born

but stopped and asked ourselves “Why?”

This kind of love is not ours to break,

you said with my voice.

And we couldn’t even if we tried,

my dreams told your sleep

as your heart beat inside me,

the word love so far beyond the tip of our tongue

that it spoke in the wind

and became the air we breathed in holy communion

with each other,

walking out across the water of the world together

to see if anyone would believe

that all of this is true,

despite the echos of hammers on nails

and the wounds that will never go away

but give our love a place to go

and grow flowers from the scars.

By Ken Woodley


Neither of us saw it coming

that late, but not too late, afternoon in Galilee

by the sea at sunset,

the light skipping across the water

as if someone had thrown it

from the other side of the sky.

It just happened.

Neither of us could stop it.

Neither of us wanted to.

The light shining to us.

Then through us.

Completely.

A heart-on collision.

There were so many broken pieces

that felt wondrously brand new.

My hands were at the end of your wrists.

Your fingers were at the end of my arms.

We started to put ourselves back together again

the way we’d been born

but stopped and asked ourselves “Why?”

This kind of love is not ours to break,

you said with my voice.

And we couldn’t even if we tried,

my dreams told your sleep

as your heart beat inside me,

the word love so far beyond the tip of our tongue

that it spoke in the wind

and became the air we breathed in holy communion

with each other,

walking out across the water of the world together

to see if anyone would believe

that all of this is true,

despite the echos of hammers on nails

and the wounds that will never go away

but give our love a place to go

and grow flowers from the scars.