Man, you are man, mosaic--
One shimmering image, three kinds of smiles,
Ten frowns--
We think of loss
As a hammer; juggernaut;
Bowling ball; forest fire;
The river, shaving stone. I
nevitable.
But loss
Is an a
mbush, and each wind
Blinds me anew
With handfuls of sand
That were tiles
That were blue
That were gray
That were blue
Green eyes.
