given time
the edge of grief blurs
becomes a blunt thing
no longer sharp glass
cutting away at the soul
but more of a bruise
that one learns to live with

given time
every step does not
cause the dust of memory
to rise and choke the walker
bht becomes a fragrance of
day past, that  you catch when
the wind is right...

given time
the words spoken
by well meaning friends
have come true..
and seeds of a new life
sown in fields of grief
flower and give fruit

given time ...given time