Grace Passing

What was broken
on the day of gratefulness
could not be repaired.
Musing at the ambiguity of disfunction,
Oh, this arm only lies here,
this mouth does not speak.
Like a child investigating
an old toy rediscovered.
How quickly the broken
is accepted and made the most of.
As with the worn thin shoe.
We stay from habit, or is it gratitude,
Despite the road being felt
more roughly in our soles.
But it is the day of thankfulness.
Beyond passing lamentation,
We returned to the deep gaze.

Death wears bright colors.
The red of rose and cardinal.
Blue of Texas hills.
Yellow for forgetting.
Relax in the gentleness of her embrace.
Though starkly white of face
With midnight eyes,
Her colors point,
Like the flowers of the maypole,
To new life.
Through the gates she guards
The unimaginable awaits, perfectly
Prepared, designed and ready, for when
She takes your last gasp.

Why be Sorry.
Do I lament the dry orchid flowers
Lying on the coffee table
Knowing next year’s spike is already in preparation?
Life is transition.
Loss is a moment in a movement
Diving into Uttanasana the head must drop.
When loss has only a bitter taste
Looking deeply into it,
Fullness and wholeness are found.
As we know in the release of Shavasana
Always and Everywhere.