the tick of loss, loss, loss
I don't do loss well, but who can?
its reality can slap me awake,
while I can also sleep in each moment
and imagine that time and loss can forget me,
I get the tap on the shoulder,
the soft murmur that I won't see someone again,
that I won't be able to connect,
to dance with their eyes,
I'd love to hold onto their light,
despite how much it is passing,
I feel the echo of who they were,
who they really still are,
it lives within me,
though it fades,
it fades,
today I feel the loss of my brother Clarence, CW,
whose love for these mountains,
and for persimmon pudding,
moves me, every day,
Connie Toverud just left us,
as she had to embrace the good night that called her away,
right now, I am feeling how much each tick of the clock
whispers "loss, loss, loss" at us,
I want to be sure enough of who I am
to hear, to feel,
to deal with the wrench.
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