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The Parting
       
Something about sadness persists you know,
tearing us apart, unheralded, ironic
and we cannot leave it there alone.
Carried to the grave and home again
its wounded heart beats strong, 
enticingly and aching valiantly 
for the je ne sais pas quoi of more.

There is a corollary to the grief we own,
an outrage with a wondrous paradox, 
not as nepenthe or to minimize a tragedy
but to confirm a deeper triumph 
self-interred, and restless for a voice.

For then it is that sensitivity 
imparts its truth, the heart may speak
and with a welcome irony, will yet
perform all sadness with a wisdom
gained through thought--we're made
of restlessness, of glory-seeking
for the sake of it.  It is
the heights where we belong,
with all the nakedness we are,
and parting tears enrich,
not drain our souls.

One of them, beloved in life,
in death informed me later
that the sight of God was
in the light that shone upon him...
evidence enough for me
that all the sadness there
is solid ground for joy.
      ~

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