My friend,
you are so lovely
but you cannot see.

You do not know that
nothing that happened before
can provide for you now.
Memory will not keep you
warm or happy or content.

Summer will not provide snow
and this time you cannot have both.

The night is thick and soft and does
not yield to your desire or sadness.

The color red bursts through
your closed eyes and you
cannot pretend not to see.

Soon daylight will come
proclaiming against
the dark.

The sunrise is the color of berries,
and like blood it greedily spreads
not wanting to leave anything


As I leave my home
in the early cool of
the morning I am aware
of a need I have for a space
in which I can mourn
my losses.

Outside I see a white
plastic bag, torn and
tattered, nothing more
than garbage really,
has been blown and caught
near the top of a tree.

Now in the wind it
looks like a prayer flag,
waving bravely white
in stark contrast to
the blues and greens
surrounding it, waving
to me its condolences,
personal sorrows and
hopes for both our futures.

I don’t know if God has
a plan for us, but if he does
I hope he can excuse us for
our miscalculations, with our
constant U turns and
closed eyes.

I pass a multitude of
orange flowers all pointing
toward the sun, faces turned
up and slightly to the left
as if saying thank you for
the morning’s warmth.