We have encountered storms Perfect in their drench and wreck Each of us bears an ornament of grief A ring, a notebook, a ticket torn, scar It is how humans know their kind— What is known as love, what can become the heart's food stored away for some future Famine Love remains a jewel in the hand, guarded Shared fragments of earth & air drift & despair. We ponder what patterns matter other than moons and tides: musical beats—rumba or waltz or cha cha cha cosmic waves like batons furiously twirling colors proclaiming sparkle of darkness as those we love begin to delight in the stars embracing Copyright © 2017 Patricia Spears Jones. Used with permission of the author. |
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