measured existence
I can measure a cup
of flour, pour a pound of
sugar but I am at
a loss to quantify
how much grief weighs
how long a heart stays bro-
ken how far it is to
forgiveness or the speed
of the sound of loneliness
I cannot serve slices
of starlight or morsels
of existence any
more than I can grasp a
galaxy of grace or
how the gravity of
love your love makes sorrow
as weightless as silence
at least in this moment
an embrace of listening
that leaves me susceptible
to hope and to healing
and how to measure them
except to say on this night
I have–I am–enough
Peace,
Milton
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