I am under the shadow of death.
The shadow my friend has cast
by his own death too soon visited
upon him by no sense of life I know.
The young always die too young.
“To what purpose?” the words
razor sharp to cut across time
and eternity, to hear some truth
in the lie, “The child is hers!”
I hear nothing. Feel no new wound
arise across my heart. “Accept
the unacceptable.” The first divine
commandment ever exemplified.
The second, like the first, as full
of mystery and confusion, “Love
the life you’re given.”
I think of the insanity of Abraham,
the sacrifice ready to be made,
the ram caught in the briars
and cannot make the connection.
I look out at the morning beauty
of frost and sunrise,
love and loss,
the thin strands of time,
the life caught by them.
How the wind or a hand
brushes them aside.
I am not satisfied with the answers
I am given. Remembering – the consolation
of the living.