Your world seems empty now: a puzzle whose pieces
you thought made you complete are missing.
If I could make you listen, in your loneliest hour,
the doves continue to coo and soft breezes
still strum their spring song on budding branches.
If I could help you see, in your lightless prison,
the perfection of a powder blue sky day 
has not gone away and the courageous yellow face
of a solitary dandelion defies the gardener’s rake.
 
If I could urge you to inhale, despite your clenched chest,
you’d be healed by the green tonic of mown grass 
or even the humble aroma of a potato 
baking in the oven just for you.
If I could I would teach you to taste the salt of your tears
and explore their source, to feel the jagged edges
of your newly broken heart, and with those same hands,
use the thread of your pain to sew a stronger version
whole again.

A day begins; there are no promises.
Maybe the sun will shine, or not.
No one can be sure who is around that corner
or what news this next call might bring.
 
Seasons arrive like clockwork but how
they will turn out is a mystery. Still...
One day we will slip from our bodies
and slide into the Light; this we know.
 
Perhaps to rouse from sleep and put aside
the fear that hunts our hearts,
we could live each day
as if the Light was already ours.
 
Listen: The heart hears a deeper truth
than the head. Even the loneliest
one is never alone on
the winding journey home.