Sometimes I notice a sorrow in the soul
like a star that appears to hang in the sky
held in its course by immense gravity.
Like a star, the sorrow is always here,
it’s just I don’t always see it.
Is it strange, I love these clear nights
when the sorrow reveals itself.
And though I can’t name it, can’t track it,
can’t visit it, can’t touch it,
I know the sorrow the way I know any star—
by being still and offering it my attention.
Tears fall so quietly, so innocently.
They help me know it is here, this precious sorrow,
sorrow born of radiance, sorrow born of love.