Today's poem is by Terry L. Kennedy

All the Things We Cannot See
       

How, in your last hours,
you rested atop a pilled, red blanket;
the blanket more for our comfort
than yours.

***

You see, it isn't false hope,
the belief that, years and years on,
we'll forget the moment of loss;
that time, like the river, wears all
things down; renders them soft, unrecognizable
to our former selves. It's just
an imprecision. Grief—
not as in loss,
but the echo of loss—
rises through the thorny brambles
of wild rose that cover the ridge
like fireflies pricking the night,
lifting our eyes toward promise,
toward the stars, toward
all the things we cannot see.

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Copyright © 2023 Terry L. Kennedy All rights reserved
from Pembroke Magazine
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission