There is only joy in love, she said.
But what about grief, I asked,
The grief that feels like stone?
That’s fear, she said, when you think
love is gone. Love is never gone.
Fear rises up inside us, she said,
But love can go clear to the bone;
Take it as close as you can, without breaking.
Maybe it’s okay to break, I said,
After all, a bone will always yearn to heal.
Only you can answer the question,
for we’re alone in our decisions;
Can the aspen advise the crocus?
You and I are that different, she said.
Yet, their roots are intertwined, I said.