Broken glass litters the floor.
As I hug my daughter against my shattered heart.
I feel her warm tears.
We sit huddled against the refrigerator door.
All this breakage...
She’ll want to come back to us again…
…I’ll probably say yes...
The sun is a pale disc.
The fog bank moves in from the South.
Everywhere is grey and shrouded,
Except the grass beneath my feet.
It remains green for me -
even when she’s not here.
Strung in long chains
Drape from balconies and across pergolas
A hubbub of voices
A riot of colour
An extravaganza of flavours
A painted elephant
A sacred fire
Two souls are joined