Delivered out of raw continual pain, smell of darkness, groans of those others to whom he was chained — unchained, and led past the sleepers, door af… - Denise Levertov

Perhaps he will not return. But what we have lived
comes back to us. We see more. We feel, as our rings increase,
something that lifts our branches, that stretches our furthest leaf-tips
further.

Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.

Sometimes the mountain
is hidden from me in veils
of cloud, sometimes
I am hidden from the mountain
in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,
when I forget or refuse to go
down to the shore or a few yards
up the road, on a clear day,
to reconfirm
that witnessing presence.