By coming to recognise the degree to which overlapping and different narratives shape our expectations in love, we can avoid some of the worst outcomes.
God help me, I don’t know where I’m going.
We hold each other’s hand like children
finding our way home among the closing wolves.
Each day my friend asks us to share
evidence of grace, photo trails of kids laughing,
prayer flags strung with petals
While I think of them they are growing rare
after the distances they have followed
all the way to the end for the first time
Grief is a Thief—quick startled—
Pricks His Ear—report to hear
Of that Vast Dark—
That swept His Being—back—
My father, affectionately known
by his sons as Doodles, took up painting-by-the-numbers.
His vision of blue jays hung over the toilet to be
reckoned with by any urinating male.