what spaces do we have
we hold with a grip of death;
one moment we have hope
and then we lose . .. it slips through our fingers
like sands of time . . . winged and free
yet wind whipped we are wounded
abraded by the erosion of loss and hurt
and yet the passage
of time dulls the pain . . .
we brush ourselves off . .
and quickly forget . .. clutching at hope
which like tiny fragile bubbles
are so shiny and so compellingly beautiful
You grab that tenuous sprite .. .. Love . ..
as Love dances away . . .
leaving you more lonely than you
ever were before