Lost — on a hollow day,
when whipped whips from the north and sears,
stripping away certitude.
We are placed here — god knows why — for a time – for a moment,
to give witness to what is good about living,
to smile, to laugh — above all to play and tease.
Even when the stealthy enemy makes his
way to our door on a bright sunny day,
and draws away all sparkle,
the spirit lingers, hovers — and sings a truth.
This truth has many guises.
The sky sings and weeps, tumbling to earth.
Sorrow.
You’ve left, and we know not how to walk,
our moments ashen with remembrance —
the memory of a turned head, a zinger on the way, and a warm embrace.
We are left to bear this
— honored —
till heartache salts the water that penetrates earth’s sheltering arms.
The song of the spirit lights a narrow path in the woods where we pass.
We do not light the path, but walk it our own way, till we reach its end.
Thanks be to the Creator for the light.
Thanks be to the Creator for the light.
Who then will I speak to?
Who then will I speak to?
But the light — the light!
He walked the light.