Again as we turn to grieving
in the stories of
us
of which, I know little of how
to
counsel
except to say it is good, for a time
to sit quietly with this
in our own stunned silence and devastation
good also, to
laugh
to cry, to say and to feel stories
large and small
of those we love, of those
we shall not ever really
lose
of those that take their own little pieces of us
when they go
yet in exchange it seems,
for the bits that we so desperately
hold on to
the small wedges we feverishly hammer into place
in our own hearts, to fill the void
left gaping open
as to not let in… the cold
indeed, these small fragments feel
inadequate
as to what it is, we wish to hold
but this is love
this is the love that surrounds us
when we are in need
that allows us to open our eyes on the morning sun
forgetting for the briefest moment
that we are doomed to another crush of
days
this too is love when someone reaches us
in tenderness, in awkwardness
or in
grace
this is how we know we will perhaps
make it to the evening’s
stars
in the darkest sky
where again we may cry out in questions
of how and why
and when
might this hollowing out of one’s heart
ever end
this is love that allows us to breathe
deeply or
desperately or somehow unconsciously
through days of
living
without
this is the love that holds
that hurts, and too
that
heals
this is love
of its blessing or its
curse
it has in its gentle power
just what we
need
to see us through
and in this kind of love
to fail, to fall
to quietly or unknowingly wander through
this again,
is where I’ll meet you
with a warm glass of comfort
and arms
large enough to hold
all
of you ♥