Of What Remains

Sometimes when the sky is full of night

and the wind slumbers

high in the poplar trees

where the song of soft summer rain

haggles the leaves by day…

Sometimes, when the moon is swallowed in blackness

as earth and sky coalesce

in inky nothingness

save for the thickening quiet

blanketing the hour…

Sometimes, when longing could swallow an ocean

and emptiness is full of aching

and aching is full of emptiness

save for a the echo

of what could have been...

Sometimes, then I weep for gladness

and the love of double-edges

for surely fulfillment and need

are the enduring offerings

of what remains

I remember

J~