The Tide

Momentarily the waters seemed to recede.

The ordinary began beckoning

through familiar rhythm.

You laughed again.
Made plans.
Answered the phone without hesitation.
You spoke of your love with more gratitude than ache.

Then, without warning—
a familiar song
the scent of rain on warm pavement,
a birthday,

a quiet Tuesday in October,
the tide returned.

The Sea

The moon has been drawing the tide
long before there were words for grief.

It rises.
It recedes.
It returns.

The moon does not fail

because it continues to draw the tide.

The sea is not broken

because it answers.

Nature interprets recurrence as faithfulness.

Perhaps so does the human heart.

Along This Shore

No returning tide finds the same shore.

The water has changed.
The shoreline has changed.
So have you.

Healing is rarely revealed
by the absence of return.

Healing becomes visible
in the way you meet what returns.

A lantern for the crossing

The moon keeps rhythm.

The sea keeps rhythm.

The heart keeps rhythm.

Grief interrupts our sense of rhythm.

The tide is not asking you to remember
The tide remembers with you.