Into the Hour
by Elizabeth Jennings
I have come into the hour
of a white healing.
Grief's surgery is over
and I wear
The scar of my remorse
and of my feeling.
I have come into a sudden
sunlit hour
When ghosts are scared to
corners. I have come
Into the time when grief
begins to flower
Into a new love. It had
filled my room
Long before I recognized
it. Now
I speak it's name. Grief
finds its good way home.
The apple-blossom's
handsome on the bough
And Paradise
spreads round. I touch it's grass.
I want to celebrate but
don't know how.
I need not speak though
everyone I pass
Stares at me kindly. I
would put my hand
Into their hands. Now I
have lost my loss
In some way I may later
understand.
I hear the singing of the
summer grass.
And love, I find, has no
considered end,
Nor is it subject to the
wilderness
Which follows death. I am
not traitor to
A person or a memory. I
trace
Behind that love another
which is running
Around, ahead. I need not
ask its meaning.
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