laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to
dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a
time to gather them;
a time to embrace and a time
to be far from embraces.
Ecclesiastes 3:4,5
Let me remember you
lovely friend,
long dead,
when
we walked beneath
the trees
beginning
their autumn
murmurings,
rustling
their blazing
benedictions
over our dark
exile,
becoming
this bending
light
of long prayer
across
what is numb
and cold
in the north
of our hearts
across our brief belonging
and still
inexplicable
losses.
My heart softens when I read this, Cynthia. Regardless of the short lines, this poem reads fairly slowly, the aliteration of "beneath...beginning," "blazing benedictions", "mute...memory" , "becoming this bending," and "brief belonging" perhaps being partly the reason for this. I like "the north of our hearts." It is honest and embracing at once. Many blessings to you as you sit with, revisit, and move through this certain kind of grief.
ReplyDeleteThank you dear friend for your way way generous and kind comments. There is a certain kind of melancholy in the air as autumn approaches. Losses remain through all the seasons, but so does love and bright days. So thankful for so much...God Bless.
ReplyDeleteI agree about Autumn's melancholy way; there is a sweetness to it that speaks to my soul. Ironic that the sweet-smelling autumn air comes from the death and decay of living and once-living leaves and plants -- somehow it comes to me as "clean." It must be a washing-away of sorts, a release. So lovely that it gives way to dormancy and rebirth. Isn't God brilliant in his creation?
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