Let us be finally
together in our calamities,
at peace in our wars,
at rest in our agitations.
We are made human,
first breath to last;
one broken heart
implies another. If
your words disappear,
your thoughts fragment,
I nonetheless hear
all you cannot say.
And somewhere,
do we sing? Do we sing
in our darkest nights,
do we join the voices
life has hushed, and
do we make
the sound of angels fallen
into each other’s arms?
Meditatio Ephemera 
Beautiful poem.
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Thank you kindly for taking the time to read and respond. Much appreciated!
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Cate, exquisite poem. I’m with you completely in your sentiments. Thank you so much for your beautiful thoughts
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Thanks, sweet friend. I couldn’t have better company.
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And maybe we should not see death as a tragedy as we always do, but instead a triumph that we have lived. And thus the singing. -Russ
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Indeed, Russ! I like your vision. I’ve been reading the Buddhist psychiatrist Mark Epstein (“The Trauma of Everyday Life”); he imagines dying as removing a tight shoe. A kind of relief; a relaxation. I like that, too. Thanks, as always, for reading and sharing your thoughts.
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Ohhhh, Cate – beautiful!! Together in our calamities, singing, as we become angels falling into each other’s arms … this so appeals!
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I’m so glad, Jazz! Thank you.
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