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.