Nothing stays the same and

why should it be so, our lives soon

more or less than what was planned,

the full design rarely finished within sight.

Just this morning I glanced out the window

and there was the absence of you.

I mean there was not you but a trace of gleaming,

an after-image that wanted to linger, a

brightening of the faded platinum of winter

like a bloom fortelling spring through the haze.

How does an essence permeate all of time?

How does sweet perfection transform loss?

I closed my eyes to remember

and all life was returned to me,

this moment finely woven with every other,

a rope of spider’s silk and jute that yet secures me.

If not for then, now would exact another meaning and

if not for abundance, time would be a pauper;

I would be begging, unforgiving, hungry

for more than what I find is needed.