Thursday, August 13, 2009

Weather Report

My loss, at times, is an ocean.

It’s all I see on the horizon

stretched from East to West,

North to South.

Some days it is a river

coursing through the middle,

perhaps overflowing

its banks but soon receding.

At night it is an underground spring

Unseen, but there, silent, cold

Always underneath all thoughts.

The worst days are when it is a cyclone.

Thundering, pounding, pelting me

with reminders of wet grief.

It turns my world around

Scatters me across the landscape

Then leaves me amid the rubble.

November 2008

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