"To understand a swan,
one must learn
how to cry,"
my son says,
the words
suddenly
clear.
Such truths sprinkle
his conversation,
attuned as he is
to a higher
frequency
than the
rest of us
can hear.
And these days,
I am very close
to tears.
I can't put my finger
on it.
Yes, my old dog
is failing,
but it is
something more. .
Am I grieving
my life's
passing,
and
all the losses
gone before?
Each loss
triggers
grief
for all
the others.
A wave like a
jet plane
knocks you
flat;
it nearly
smothers.
You tumble
on the ocean floor
a while
in pain,
wondering if
you'll
ever get
back up
again.
But when
the wave
draws back
its lip
once more,
you arise
with luck
much stronger
than before,
even more wise,
remembering
there was
much more
love and joy
than the
goodbyes.
Perhaps I'll
soon converse
with swans,
look in their
opaque eyes,
and finally
understand
what this
shifting
ground
on which
I stand
is trying
so hard
to make me
realize.
