There’s something very reassuring about this poem. Maybe the way it speaks to the rhythm of life; the ebb and flow, opening and closing, inhaling and exhaling, rejoicing and grieving, loss and gain…
Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror
up to where you’re bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look, and instead,
here’s the joyful face you’ve been longing to see.
Your hand opens and closes, and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open
you would be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence
is in every small contraction and expansion,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as bird wings.
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