I can tell you that I am sitting in a cave,
half of it carved from the white marble of the moon
and half of it scooped from the sea.
And as it turns in the inky sky and the waves ebb at my feet,
I curl into a ball under soft, warm blankets of starshine and I lament.
I hurt, I hurt, I hurt
is the litany my soul cannot stop repeating.
I have used all the other words
and now there is nothing left
to speak to the darkness.
And how remarkable
that Her strong, soft voice
doesn't answer back with a cure.
She doesn't tell me I'm too emotional
to understand the patterns of the waves.
She doesn't tell me that if I wasn't hurting I would see the trail
because She knows the only paths worth parting the seas for
are those anyone, even the hurting
especially the hurting
She doesn't tell me that I'm too sensitive,
that my trial of being flung into the sea
has nothing to teach me about understanding
when it happens to those around me.
Because She knows the wounded warrior
has eyes the unmarred soldier can never glimpse,
unless they vow to let their swords rust and crumble into the sea.
She cradles me in the sea-light and whispers back to my soul
"And I'm learning
So I'm leaving
And even though I'm grieving
I'm trying to find a reason
Let loss reveal it."