The feeling that comes with a loss,
that this hole, this gaping absence
swallows, too, all that still remains,
so that the fragile balance whispers
its soulful last, before trailing away …
and what then, is the work of recovery,
when you feel now, between worlds,
pieces of you bound to the departed,
where in the moment you’d rather be,
with its borders dissolved in the dark,
like you have entered your own dreams,
which no longer end, which relieves you.
But then, you sigh, or gasp, or choke,
and you are brought back to your body,
battered and fragile, broken in places,
but here, where you’ve always breathed,
where love first came to dance with you.
Here, from where the glory feelings arise,
here, from where all that you love leaves.
Bound to yourself, to your shaky breath
where all the promises can be fulfilled,
where, one staggered breath at at a time,
you can fill your body with everything
that exists around you, you can choose
what and how to be here, while you are.
To hold the departed in dear embrace
rather than to take a too-early flight.
To feel it all, here, now, in this, our life.