Today

I remember little said in grief;

Words released like flares into darkness,

hot and bright and momentary,

no after-image. 

But to joys are raised statues,

temples, towers,

the palaces of memory overflow with laughter, 

even in the ruins.

I walked among them in the sunshine,

trailing tender fingertips along the walls,

palisades well loved and wandered,

happy for the company.

There is a new grotto,

with a still deep pool, 

cool shadows and bright flashes, 

things that are, and will not be. 

I will come here again,

when I have been too alone, 

to sit with the truth, 

 beautiful and untenable as the koi.

I will not make a wish.