Days such as this are seen
through the prism of
lugubrious memory,
bearing witness to
the bewildered faces
etched in our dusty memories
as we walk our own radii
out from the
rubble of brokenness
and into the new life
that is here and now,
not knowing exactly
what is to be,
but certain that it
will be adumbrated
by the memory
of those who have touched our lives,
not as heroes,
but as humans,
companions for a time,
whose familiar beauty
arises from truer origins
of belovedness
that survives
the spanse of time and space,
and even death.
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