Another life begins...
all that remains of the
old is the space between,
a vacuum of infinite depth,
where blood boils cold and hot.

At points along the way,
we stopped to behold the tulips,
austere and graceful as they were,
and we marveled that
our very souls could ache so,
wailing sorrow in wrenching waves
of longing, long after hope is lost,
becoming the phoenix of
New American tragedy.