(repost) Glory Bower.

So, I did not keep up with writing on the blog the last few days as I’d hoped.   I was dealing with a few losses: first and foremost, this weekend was the first anniversary of my late wife, Katharine Leigh, passing suddenly and in her sleep.   Also right on the heels of this, my long time dog Isaiah who had been Katharine’s service dog passed and the first real romantic relationship I had since Katharine’s passing ended abruptly.

So, dear readers, bear with me if I take a while to get back to regular writing.

Thinking about the anniversary of Kat’s passing and how I deal with these other smaller, yet significant, griefs I was reminded of a recent poem I wrote that reflects my perspective on grief.  Hope it blesses you all!



Glory Bower

candle under bushel

Behind eyes a fire sparks,

Its light shining out to all who will look

Like a candle glowing behind glass

At times brilliant

Flickering lively with unrestrained joy

Other times as dim

As the sun through the clouds

That reflected on Uncle Earl’s

Tiny irrigation ditch

When Paul and I sat fishing

Until the light faded

across a horizon surrounded by long-leaf pine.


Yet even in this dim glimmer

One witnesses

the shining brightness

Genesis calls forth on our first day,

The fire and cloud which lie before our every moment

Guiding us when we wake to ground covered in manna thick as snow

And when we spin circles, lost in winding wilderness way



That moment I often witness,

while speaking the words

“Into your hands, Oh Lord,

We commit their spirit”

When, so often, I see it fade from their eyes

Their body slacking and going still.


Always that moment makes me feel a gentle shudder

Something like a breeze blowing through my soul.


At times I believe the light of such bright souls

Are ever gone in that moment,

Leaving my heart torn asunder

Like those trees out back

Shredded by Hurricane Fran.

I am inconsolable, bereft.


In other moments

I feel the light does not dissipate

But spreads,

As the lamp’s light

Whose color one does not witness directly

But rather finds in the many hues it reveals

In all it illuminates.


My heart is not less torn asunder then

But in the cracks left behind

I glimpse doorways beyond the veil.

I see more clearly all around me

And myself

Knowing the light of that seeing

Is the same brightness I saw before

Shining in their now dim eyes.


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