Friday, February 3, 2012

Grief At the End of the Road

 The sky turned into a white open hand,
a strange heaven, self revealed at last,
shining tears of things remembered
and their oblivion a wondrous dust
in our hands. We became every silence

Our souls burst open
becoming light, a certain state of mind.
Words flowed through everything and we
could hold them in our hands.

All wounds but whirling ash
consumed in holy flame.