Sometimes our heart quivers with tenderness, with grief.
Like a stringed instrument, it sings in tears and pain.
It wails a fragile goodbye, trilling upwards into the ache
of a symphony.
In order to live, we sometimes lose.
We lose our beat, our rhythm, our best friend, our sacred space.
We lose our health, our elders, keys to the hearth.
Tears wash our sight; cleanse our eyes; make new
that which would cling to the old forever.
Far in the distance the mourning dove coos its ancient song.
We remember when our hearts swelled in joy beating
When the sun sets, only shadows remember.
Quivering heart, I enfold you in a love
which embraces it all.
Don’t lose trust, dear one.
Morning comes soon in pulsing soft blue and pink glory,
birth pangs of a new day.