One moment, the brain and body drifting gently in that soft connection-disconnection
of the noon-time dishes.
The next, cellular grief, a body blow which forces you to catch the bench edge to keep upright.
Glimpses of what you may have been blur into the middle distance.
The soft but come now beauty of grief and longing, dancing slowly in the arms of the ghost gum,
calling you back to the life you are becoming.
Drying hands to dry tears.
In grief their is growth, sharp edges accommodated.
And gratitude for the profound beauty in this life leftover.
Stardust Becoming 