There are no illusions left to hold onto
And Love will not be sending step by step instructions in the mail.
All those old beliefs that used to shine like lighthouses pointed the way
Have crumbled, tumbled into her ocean of despair.

It is a strange time.
Grief rips at her insides tearing the tendons of false gods along the way
And amidst hours of pain upon pain
There are crystal clear moments of being only where her feet are
And see sees with the innocent eyes of wonder:
The veins and cracked edges of a fall leaf, smell the soil in the air;
See the heart in the eyes of those around her.

And although death's long arms look like comfort to her,
A small voice whispers from the distance to wait for the miracle to begin.

This she knows: she does not know,
But there are moments of wonder for her to hold onto.