On loss and reading Ruth Stone

The paper damp, almost wet

Big grey patches, but not sweat.

Big tears: I’m crying now, like a baby, you bet.

But not because of my tampered chemistry,

But our chemistry – that connection full of mystery.

Now I know that love lives so close to pain

And anything, big, small, can start the rain:

Drops sliding down my cheek as if a windowpane.

“Being Human” by Ruth Stone: some much love and anguish.

Love and loss, in the end, we cannot distinguish.

It’s your love that helps me through each day

And dreams of the impossible: they help too, in their own way.

 

Done