is it just the way things are
that anything
transcendent
requires something

dark before

dawn opens over the night’s ridge, golden, glorious,
as birdsong swells with color and light
lilting across dancing water

her death required my small death
a burying of things held
oh so tightly
it was hard to peel my fingers back
to release them

I lean against the dark stone
and wait for the angel
to strike a match