My Fragile Hands

I held in my fragile hands a thank you card from the family of a colleague who recently passed.

what is it about life that was fragile?
was it the time we never have enough of? the way we crumbled from loss? the way a single person could make a difference and then disappear in a matter of weeks?

was it the tremble in my hand or the flicker in my eye of a flashback?
he had been kind to me. he had been kind.

in an hour of disarray he had brought hope, he had understood.
goodbye to you and all that you stood for.

you remain rooted in the hearts of us all, not merely in our fragile hands.

If We Only Knew

If we only knew what we wanted with certainty, if we only knew.

If the ball could fall right into our hands, if it could only.

That our paths would be smooth and our tears only little.

That we would not destruct the feelings of people we loved by our merely being, by our living.

If we only said the right words when we were meant to say them.

And took chances when we were meant to take them.

If it would be easy, that we would no longer choose solitude.

Over and over, and over. and over.

If we only knew what we wanted with certainty, if we only knew.