They have joined
a larger cloth whose
whole escapes my
view. They have
been torn from one
side of life’s quilt
and added to another.
This hand-sewn tapestry
of my days alights
with muted squares
of earthen tones.
The ochres bleed
with tawny hues and
darkening shades toward
mosses and decay.
Sometimes, I am given
to wonder why. Why the
tearing must go on at all.
Why the ones who were at
my side have been removed
and taken far away. Away
to a shadowland of long
forgotten forms and of
lingering vaguenesses.
The cloth of life is rent
by death and there is a
numbness we hold dear
until the shock allows us
to pull out the pins and
reblock the squares in
a new pattern on the
other side. A pattern
that must hold until we
might sew them all back
together; back anew.
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