Angels, be my breath as I locate my heart.
Spilling all the joy-filled moments to make room for more.
The extraction feels unkind and filled with compassion all at once.
Death, how do you do that? How do you put pain and laughter in the same sentence and call it grace?
How do you show me the precious unravelling, and assure me that the love remains?
How is it that you find words for focal points of consequence and understanding?
You, Death, wash through me like a fresh wind, even while it's raining and heavy outside.
Even while the end of winter teases me with the arrival of spring-drenched flowers.
Even while there are children yet to be born and hands yet to hold, and songs - oh the songs we'll sing!
And the cacophony of beautiful tears, signifying moments we have lived.
To welcome this moment without the fear of rendering it forgotten by tomorrow - well?
How does the artist trust the canvas? The painted ones, the white ones, the ones that don't even yet have a shape.
It is in the falling that we learn how to fly, and today I am certain that our friends help us find our wings.