Leave them weeping
in their beds, in the streets,
on their bicycles
riding through town
on simple errands,
unable to remember
what they are doing
or to remember
anything at all
but that Love transcends.

These lesser things—
the sun flitting through spruce trees
like a thousand golden birds,
the bread on your humble table,
the tiny shoes of a child—
are only temporal tears
in heaven’s eye, given to us
that we may feel closest to Love
when we weep for remembering
that what extends far beyond us
somehow lives within us
at the same time.

Claire Juno, © 2017