We are graced with their presence, beauty colors
our universe like an endless ceiling of bright blue sky.
Then one morning we wake with heavy hearts,
realizing they have gone, as though sneaking out
in the middle of the night without a word, their
existence seemingly nonexistent. Iron-gray clouds
move through that lovely cloudless sky like a brush
stroke of lingering gloom. We suspect the sun has
an attitude, refusing to rise. And each new day
magnifies the question: Did words accidentally
slip from our tongue landing like poison? Then we
reflect to a deeper layer, flipping a switch because
maybe it’s not us. Maybe it’s them. A surmising…
to soothe the bruises on our hearts.
Lauren Scott ©