Grief that poises us upon a precipice,

to dash one down without the joys of flight.

Grief that shakes bent shoulders endlessly,

leaves tattered shadows, deep remorse.

Kind hands or blessed solitude –

to break the chain of dreams and doom.

Remorselessly time moves across the sun,

the soul is sated but still fragile,

waiting for understanding to stem the tide of tears.

Recalling the wealth of happy times stored –

deep within hungry memories.

Soul washing tears; thank thee gentle salve.

We will be whole again,

afloat, once more, upon the sea of life.

David Garlick, Sidney, November, 2007