A poem on cycles of life and death, and the indelible effects of separation from those we love.

(Image: JPlenio on Pixabay) 

Life plucks us 
when it is our time.
Like the solo
desert
bloom:
we are called to open 
towards the heat 
of life
and then to close
at the perfect moment
of day's end
into cool, dark, expanse
of infinity.

In nature
(as in life)
there are never two of the same.

When that moment of closing
arrives, 
there in only one 
precious imprint
now called 
to travel with wild breeze
across rocks and space
into vast crevices 
of the heart.

Nothing will ever be the same now.
In wake of absence, 
no word can measure
the distance,
nor anything else.
Only a fierce love 
in all directions — 
a sort of madness
leaving a fine edge 
like dull knife,
cutting air
in silent swoosh.

✾

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