There is a deep grief with me today
or sadness, necessarily
but the longing, aching press
fathoms of need
chasms of yearning
every cell of me straining
filled with oceans of unansweredness
instead of… whatever it is that should fill this hole
I’m not sure what I should be grieving.
Surely something will tell me the answer
something I can DO
Shall I sound it out, or plumb its depths?
Shall I plot its edges and guess at the creature within?
Shall I keen into the darkness and make a picture from its echo?
Instead, I will wait for grief to speak to me
wait for it to tell me its story
washed up on the shore, uncovered by time
and salt water
Treasures I wouldn’t have seen
even yesterday, had I tried to force
this sea of something
behind a dam, between lochs
searching for the monster