Lament 7: Alone

New moon and fog 
As I glance out
From my cave. 
A smugglers’ night: where are they?

(Words on a page
Delight me. I wouldn’t, couldn’t 
Be taught 
to hear

As you heard.)
Some trees are leafless
Skeletonal
And some cling to their leaves. 

(You’ve left 
And a new season
Is emerging 
Into bleak darkness.)

A brief flash of light - 
Others carry treasures
I can’t see
Or hear now

But I am not alone. 

Lament 6: Grief

I wake sulky, reluctant, 
reviewing my resentments,
lonely, yet
don’t want visitors.

Nothing satisfies:
the sun is too bright;
Our home too quiet.
I want to hide.

Another funeral -
sitting huddled within myself, 
fists clenched, trying not to listen, 
wanting to leave, shaking.

I crave -
a softening in my throat,
eyes that don’t itch,
a conversation no longer available.

Somewhere there is joy,
waiting, perhaps, to
flash through me,
again,

but now I’m grieving.
Through a window, darkly

Giving Thanks

Give thanks for the hidden 
that slips into the light.

Give thanks for the gladness
that drops into sadness.

Give thanks for the sorrow
that gives way to joy.

Give thanks for the grief
that flows from lost love.

Give thanks for love
that contains and infuses us.

Lament 4

Grief, like an infant
held to my heart
whimpers,
and I don’t know
how to comfort.

I walk on,
hoping for silence,
past homes
where death has
also visited
on this dark street.

If I could weep,
if I could mourn,
if I could comfort
(if i could silence
this abandoned child),
Perhaps I could rest.

Lament 3

bark on a tree trunk and unhealthy leaves
Lament 3
The moment I wish to speak
of the one gone,
that moment my mouth opens and
jagged phrases stumble out,
That moment we’re locked in
this incoherent moment,

caught in a miasma 
of loss, of sorrow. 

Lament 1

Tree trunk, stones, and dead leaves
 I exhale grief like smoke,
On a hot summer night alone
Except for emails
And ads. 

Where is he now, 
body and spirit,
Shrouded beyond
In mysteries.
 
I turn away,
Pick up my tasks,
look at nothing, 
and hide in darkness. 

Grief

Like a sign finally read after years of passing by,
turning down the path I’m required to take,
asking what happens in this time called “grief”. 

There’s work to be done, putting a life away,
hidden fears discovered, and stories told of
what I was too close to see in our shared time. 

The busyness loosens and tasks frustrate. 
Suddenly I am distraught and yelling, lost
ind alone, shaking in anger. 

Sometimes my voice wobbles and eyes tear. 
Sometimes I am happy in a new moment. 
Sometimes I don’t know who I am. 

Some who have walked this path tell me
it never ends, but it has corners of comfort
and grows less steep and rough. 

I want to be . . .
I don’t know what this “new normal” is
yet.

Alone – Credo

The sun reflecting on a midsummer Lake Ontario, at Oakville
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with 
your one wild and precious life?” - Mary Oliver 

Only a little time left, 
to walk alone
in this precious and wild world;

I plan to shape
and walk
my own wild and precious path.