On losing you. 

Strange how air

can be so emptied out

like a hole opening up

where you once laughed

like a gash and an ache

in that space in me

the space where you 

had always been.

And now are not. 

It is not really a loss I tell myself.

not a losing, not really 

I try to say

not in the long game of things.

Though it feels long 

this longing for your face

It feels long

this counting of the days

Is it a loss?

I ask myself,

Or just an absence and 

a presence elsewhere

not here by my side

but elsewhere

in the place where time 

no longer chains

us to our days 

and age no longer 

heavies down our steps

You are not lost 

if you live forever 

and neither are we

as we forever remember you 

Nothing is lost 

when it will someday be found

Nothing is gone 

when it will one day be restored 

Nothing has ended 

when the sun will rise again

So it’s not a loss, not really. 

But we feel it deep

like a hollowing

out of the soul 

like a reality ripped and torn

like a gouging out of life.

Grief has always been the sharp edge of love

cutting us to the bone, to the core

and love in the end has always been

measured in tears

measured in years 

of waiting

And who knew that our hearts had oceans

deep within, 

endless streams spent on the missing, 

the mourning, the aching and the staring 

And who knew we might somehow breathe again

after all the floods have washed us through 

If it’s not a loss, not a losing,

It might even be a finding.

Finding there is courage even in the dark

Finding there is more to this than now our eyes can see.

Finding a light in the hope that finds us both.

It is not a losing for all time.

For all time my heart finds you in it’s beat.

It is not a loss of you forever 

but a parting for some time

and now a waiting and a patience 

A faith and a belief

A waiting for the sun to rise 

and light my way to you. 

You, there, resting in it’s light

Me, here, longing for it’s warmth

To warm my gaping heart

the space which loves you still

As I wait in time 

for all this time to pass.

It is not really a loss

not really

not in the long game of things.

It is a waiting and a patience 

and a passing of the days.

Like the passing of you.