Tragic are those lingering losses,
comic are the erratic gains
all rippled with guilt
as if others saw
perception seemed worth its weight
to carry with us
all life, blending together in summation,
sometimes synchrony, although
in our exclusion
atonement is a single strike,
a note that takes its sound
along with others,
once more
the chorus comes-
laughter snaps like light limbs
which dam up
the tear ducts
for a time,
like ours when passage
was most important
and our structures remain
sound against the wait of all things
pushed to sea.
Painting by James Whitelaw Hamilton c. 1896 housed in the Yale Center for British Art [Public domain].
