Hope is not made up of one object
It is all the fragmented
Pieces
Forced apart by
The death of one
And the birth of another

Without
The ‘with’

Summer
without winter

Joy
Without sorrow

The tearless
Would be meaningless

We have been submerged in meaning
Merged together in this great union
Of life

The so called purpose
Of life

Which is to define us
So we do not wander
Nameless
Upon some unforged road
Unrecognized

Yet purpose is a discovery
That will never be
Un- blanketed

Only peeked at
from time to time

We become a circle
Open
Endless
A field that edges to the end of the earth

The without becomes the with
Blooming into some unseen
Wonder
That has yet
To be named as real

Reality is the over-
Rated
We tie ourselves to

Thinking
Is where we went
When empty
Was too full
To bear

When nothing
Had to become
more than

We tie the string
Around our middles
Forgetting
To attach it
To our hearts

Empty
Space is
Where we go
When we attach
Our hearts

Where we are whole
with everything else around us
Where love is

Before I knew
the strings
The heart
Existed

My heart lived separate
from the space

Every
Day
I tie the strings
To my heart
The world
Seems
To become more
Of a puzzle

The air now
Thicker
With strings
All woven
Together

I wonder what will happen when I’m
Fully woven
I wonder if I ever will be

I wonder if any One
Is Full-
Y woven

With every
Birth &
Death
More strings
Are strung
More hearts
Connected

Another piece in the circle
Another crack
In the world
Another heart strung into
The weaving music

Another patch
Sewn into the patterned
quilt of
existence