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When the veil lifts
we see the bones
of the universe
and it doesn’t matter
the color of an eye,
an unread poem,
a broken thread,
the forgotten name.
.
And everything matters –
the curve of a smile,
a loaf of bread shared,
the feather of a crow,
each dandelion spared.
What matters is the fingerprint
we leave on the flame
before we’re dowsed with slumber
and it all begins again.
.
(c) 2004, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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(a re-post)
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Seasonings 