in the turning and turning of
an unwanted grief, i saw the extension
of an old, familiar hand, shrivelled and
pruned. it took my palm, clenched it,
and helped it remain tender. tender
enough to hold every interminable doubt,
every interminable sorrow. the prayers
moved through the columbarium. an
outpouring of loves that didn't know
they had somewhere to go. tragedy
beckons to joy. come for a while,
stay.