Like butterflies cycling through life,
We are equipped simply.
Through the primordial garden,
On paths muddied with hurricane tears,
We carry only a mortal’s tools.
No hand leads the leery.
No hand leads the keen.
So like gamblers
We don our poker faces,
Edge hopefully ’round our fears
And into the unforeseen.
Every minute my heart grows heavier
And every minute nearer conceding:
The reiki is an awesome foe;
But I am no frond to wither on my petiole.
From the young sister gone too soon,
The friend slain by a nameless warrior,
The child snatched prematurely away,
I’ve learned to use my tools
So take sister, friend and daughter,
Take them all.
Take them on time.
Love is impermanent.
Remember the beautiful zinnia?
Like her, I am equipped for loneliness,
But, I, with a mortal’s tools.
Renewing after every rending,
To bloom again and ever again
I am love’s invisible seed.
I’ll accept the damaging years,
Every rupture and suture,
Re-emerging thereafter, anew.