Sometimes it is the road itself that brings you to the end of the road,
as though the journey births the song and the song, the journey.
I’ve seen a new mosaic: grief and within that laughter and conversations and peppery snacks shared, death of a loved one
and its aftershocks: the way love and loss sometimes intimately weave and sometimes wave across the water from distant shores–all in a single day.
Today is a day within herself. She is a friend from a foreign country
about to darken my orange door. She is a body that contains breast-fulls of yesterday, mostly in sounds. I watch for her like a lighthouse
perched on rocks. I am one with this morning–eager and shaken and free.