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Gathering Light

for winter

When you have no words for the wounds.

When your body is as hollowed out and dark

as a jack-o-lantern

in November.

When you have lost your north, your south,

your east and your west

stay still.

 

Words for the pain are forming

beneath the skin of your patience.

Your body is gathering light for winter.

Your compass is emerging through water.

 

Sometimes dying is the only way to live again.

It may take all your stories away.

It may hunt and kill your pride

so you are left with nothing

but questions and space

howling into the night

What next? What now? What for?

 

This is when grace

pours her warm milk

into your wounds

and advises you to rest.

To steal the secrets of sorrow

and learn her heavy song

so that you can become an instrument

of resilience, turning ever forward

with more than you were born with.

 

For isn't holding hands with sorrow

a bridge?

Dying while you are still alive

birthing your next self

and courageously

beginning anew.