Oh grief, you are not like a rash—
something irritating from which
I will eventually recover.
Something that affects just the surface.
I am coming to know you as I know
my own skin—many layered. Resilient.
Something I don’t think of as separate.
Everything that touches me,
is informed by you—
whatever is sharp, soft, rough, tender.
Through you I sense it all.
Is it strange I once thought
I needed to protect myself from you?
Now you are me, integral as bone,
fundamental as blood, natural as joy.
To know you is to know myself—
to know what it is to be alive.
Once we were strangers.
Now I can’t live without you.