Time is a story we tell
To order the absurd.
I see nonsensical injury:
The handprint on her cheekbone,
Bruises yellowing like dandelions.

Why? There is no reason.
All love mingles with grief.
Maelstorm cycles repeat into madness.
What can we do about it?
I do not know.

I look to the river.
Willows grow soft in spring,
And the ice melts again
Under ineffable blue sky.
Such it is;
Such it will be.

One day the river will flood.
One day dandelions will break the sidewalk,
But not today.
Today, we hope.
Today, we mend the bruise.