In my mail box, first thing this morning, - before I had time to look at the sky, to fall into the soft white clouds, to face the day with gratitude.
It caught me unawares....
A poem by Patricia Campbell Carlson
Each day I'm a little crazier with missing you
The dog still snores on the couch, her paws
dancing through a dream-lit field. The sun
sets as usual, illuminating the red-frilled edges
of newly emerging wild-rose leaves. The veins
on the backs of my own hands run like ancient
rivers towards the depths of the body. Why
do I feel I need you so much more than these
ordinary beauties, as if heaven slipped up and
poured everything sacred into one single vessel,
leaving me wildly aware of the way clay shatters?