Full circle back here
to the one
drop of truth in False Bay,
thanking two
friends for all
they taught this fool
of life in death
without denying
separation's seams.
Their graves are overgrown,
full and ongoing
in green abundance,
every flower flowing
as I fold
and admit my loss
in the light
of those already given
to living love.
Finally,
eyes wide open,
I turn
up a grass stalk,
struggling with the seed's weight
and breathe in again,
bewildered
to see a three-petaled pattern
I've known only in dreams
and had let go
as empty symbol,
now stunned by what springs
from where they buried me:
this open field,
bursting at the seams.