It is not the rain,

nor the drawn, pewtered sky,

but the unexpected rupture,

the rent calm and

aftermath of grief

that pulls,

tugs,

drags like teeth

through shorn grass.

The price of a heart

unbound.

Bear it.

Embrace it.

Sit with it —

an old friend come

to pay respects —

till inching hours blunt

the tooth-and-claw edges.

Ride it out,

like the small,

insistent,

significant storm

that it is.

— C.Birde, 5/17