Grief is a lens,
a gift of love and life,
through which the course of every particle,
birthed in solar rays,
acquiesced by the invisible universal,
is altered.
Rendered into us as waves
crashing into consciousness,
with the power to suspend all matter
in a vacuum.
Space-time without continuum.
Grief amplifies.
A magnification of love,
an excavation of sorrow,
a heightening of senses
detecting transmuted memory.
The self,
smothered by a thousand golden threads
each winding and binding
tight yet featherlight,
surveys numb sensation
and thought.
In its place,
frozen space erupts into a thousand colors,
a million moments.
Each sharp
cut
suspended together.
Crisp pages sit,
their words spun in plain sight,
a vibrant and
richly fragranced filigree
of fallen
autumn
leaves.
Grief is the salt to the spirit,
sugar to the sharp;
the counterweight
that elevates being
into transcendent exaltation.
The heat of the orchestra's echo
still seers through skin
as if masterpiece
a mere prelude.
A hum beneath the surface.
Atomic light,
burning bright,
carves retinal ridges,
overlaying the Other
onto every waking viewscape.
In these unfathomable furrows,
love still grows.
Its fertile soil
gives birth to beauty,
whose bold shadow
shades all others
into submission.
In its respiration and repose,
elements of life,
continue to cycle on their orbits.