from What Comes of Waiting
January snowstorm.
Cup full and flooding, grief kaleidoscopes
into a symphony of pain.
Violins sculpt the melody of loss,
chords kissing the air, my soul.
Cellos linger in a harmony of need,
bass strings throb, my broken
prayer taking shape — scattered notes
forming into one bright, bitter berry,
untasted, unwanted,
trembling until the music fades.
