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From The View Of A Year
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For Broken Hearts I expected the chill bones of winter
to once again chitter
hissing icy reminders in my ears
scraping, scritching across the forever splinters
still packing gale force gut punches
and sickening squalls
I suspected the glacial recession of connection
the freeze-thaw-refreeze of retreat
calving grimy gray clods of what was
exhuming what is, abraded and raw
I confess, I don't recognize this place
though I'm told it's home
I did not dream of the luxury
of warm, liquid forgiveness
clinging in crystal drops of minutes
a burbling trickle of hours
swelling, an eventual wellspring of days
without grief, without pain
And I never dared hope for the balmy grace
of unflurried moments of radiant serenity
when the thought of you
not thinking of me
is but a ghostly cloud
skimming across my sun
