so what small truth comes this day

—piercing the heaviness of yesterday's fog 
and the foolishness of dreams ... 

comes the wholeness of being one.

yet another truth waits just beyond

—after grief bends the heart, 

and joy breaks into shards of light ... 
waits the profoundness 

of two being the wholeness 

of everything.

if hope is that thing with feathers

it crashed into my window yesterday 

falling on the porch

not moving

piercing my heart to see it so broken

heaped on its side.

went out, gingerly picked it up, 

shielded it from my hands 

with a hastily grabbed paper towel

tenderly enfolded it,

a gentle goodbye

against all odds, 

hope blinked. 

turned its tiny head  

probably to wonder at the hand of god. 

but this god couldn't fathom 

how it could possibly be that hope was still alive 

or how it would go from here

so this god sat down on the porch bench 

holding it, thinking,

wondering as well, 

slightly opening her hand ...

against all odds, hope suddenly flew up 

lighting on a porch eave

looking down at the giant still earthbound

without wings, apparently 

a lesser god, perhaps

so how might it all go from here?

against all odds   

I may yet reach safety in the rafters of heart and mind

to wonder at this larger-than-life love

that both catches me up and sets me free

to be the real me with you

 

Let it be said 

that I picked a rose the color of the clouds

of a Maine sunrise

on a November morning

for you, 

and chose a simpler life 

without causing hurt,

without the complications of a timeless love,

and went on alone 

to be a kind, less complicated woman