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. 


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

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.