Whenever someone,
specially one
who’s close to you,
leaves their body—
not in sleep at night
as everyone takes flight—
with no return
so it must die,
no matter how
prepared we are
it tears and twists,
drains . . . weighs
on us from seed to shore,
takes space once ours—no more;
at least for a time,
our time of grief.

So hedged down
and cast in,
it’s not easy
to see beyond
where the smile comes
from the one gone
more tender, direct and free
than bodies or words we
always believed
were necessary.
And now it’s wished that we, awaking, know:
our returning smile resumes the flow!


  Ronald Jorgensen
12-17 November 2005
© Ronald Jorgensen