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?