The Grief is Louder

The Grief is Louder

(“And when they had prayed, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and continued to speak the word of God with boldness.” Acts 4:31)

Though the sun squints the eyes and blazes across wind-streaked skies,
there is sometimes not enough warmth to burn away the clouds of sadness
wrap around my heart like unshorn wool.

There is no mistaking its purpose;
we have turned toward the flaming chariot watching
like parade-goers lining each side of the avenue.
Though music turns with each passing,
though grass is softer, roses laugh fuller,
the grief I wear is louder than the amplified
big band tunes.

There are valleys where light seldom visits,
caverns filled with sludge for vision,
and souls once lit
now smoke
in pit and ash.

Let the time pass. Let the days go by,
two and three,
an hour on the phone,
a dollar for coffee,
and the warmth of a kiss upon the cheek.

Loneliness and grief,
heavier than accumulated joy,
are denser than the silly quotes and maxims
mouthed by friends and phantoms.

Yet the quantum particles pass through,
the Spirit She sings the elegy for me
and does not rebuke my tears, pain or
doubts. She sits and shakes with me
until the craggy mourning cracks and her
lightness touches
my latent heart in subconscious movement
toward the sun.

And, surrounded by love, God, friends and
everyone,
the smile is not wider now,
the smile is worn and weathered now,
but the smile rests in a long distance
and microscopic array of nurture
while the sun rounds the bend again.