Sunshine hits the dustpan, clean and pure.
All things consumed by fusion come to us,
in other worlds, to nurture and illuminate.
My friend whose heart has stopped
reminds us that we live in waves,
pulling long and deeply from the bottom
to land, crescendo, bringing gifts.
This may be sorrow stinging, but also
celebration. This is where we live,
ignoring the detritus for the windows,
open doors. She is with the world.
My chest aches, a sharp jab under
my left breast. This is the stage
we cross and pause, remembering.
June 27, 2017