Wrenched from us
- A fog crept in smelling of bad news.
- A denial he got lost in.
- Time, an abyss that swallowed him.
- Needlessly, a fate of inattention.
- All we were left with
- on that low clouded dark thunder day
- of pungent green hills and valley
- was a barren space.
- Returning, we took there
- a globe of golden flowers,
- and stood silent in our not-knowing, grey
expanse of blank.
- Something we had revered had gone from
- As we drove away, looking back,
- the flowers flared up, a beacon on the
- As faith signals through gloom.
- From nothing to fullness abiding.