It just goes on and on- and this is surprising.  How I have to keep doing this…and “getting this,” though I still feel utterly disoriented and confused babbling to myself often, “I don’t understand this.”  Still- I function and listen to myself talking of details.  And time is not a line- but a spiral. And I circle and step over this again and again.  

You think that their 
dying is the worst 
thing that could happen. 

Then they stay dead. 

Donald Hall, poet (part of a longer haiku written on the death of his wife, poet Jane Kenyon)

(Thank you Anne.)

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