approaches to grace

You are sometimes felicity's fussbudget,
though the limpidness and liquidity
by which your pour yourself into it
so curiously into confluence
with all swift, sharp intercoursing
flows through rocks and shelves
hard and wearing away - noting
the influence of each upon each,
deciding your influence as 
you intently stray - takes fluidity 
to a fluency one could hardly suppose
attained by any but constant, devoted 
souls. And that, by the way 
takes a brain.

Meanwhile, says I, in my rude
country way, take courtesy
for my fundament! And trust I mean
well, to all intent, and purpose myself
to my aim and bent, which makes me a fool
or an ass sometimes. With nothing so seeming
effortless as preference and inclination aligned
in enjoyment of every try and test. 

Approaches like these both work, I find. 

For ease is not grace, and grace is not ease,
but either can meet and marry and match 
quite easily, in contentment and peace. It's
catch-as-catch can, but can 

can catch.
And be caught
as well.  

You seem to draw lines 
into staves, and play notes
that arc and swell thereupon
into chords interwoven in time
virtuosity clocked of itself: intent
reproduced in attempt so well, so fit.
There's pattern and play and propriety,
and so much of each, observed and designed
into it. As it swings out and into the test. Behind 
it a practicing scientist and artisan with heart 
in throat for the best. I seem to be much 

More pure of act, myself. Indeed in the moment, 
I'm innocent even of thought! For the very 
most part at least. I don't rightly know 

how I got so ought. So should, and so 
almost must. You protest: "But you must 
know!" No, well - you could be right! But 
I know on some level, then. It's a test. 
Perhaps it's a trick. Perhaps a fight!
But I shan't best subconscious in this 
unless, until it shows up. 'Til then, 
let's call it a draw.  

Meanwhile, as I say, I do so admire
the notes you place, precisely where each
has so much call and such cause to be. 
I sense you admire my crashing grace 
through the lines - how it adds its own 

symmetry.

We could each learn a thing 
or two from this pleasant tree 
that has grown from acorn, dropped 
or strewn who-knows-from, at just upon
the boundary line between us. Plumb. 
Perhaps it's not oak. As it grows, perhaps 
we'll have plums or figs, or both! 
Either way, it's a nice place to meet,
well-begun.