Into the Hour

I received this poem from a friend. I think it's beautiful. Sorry for lack of postings recently. I've been a busy bee. But my work contract is up in June, so I'm hoping to do a bit more travelling/volunteering over the summer so I reckon you can probably expect postings from somewhere more exotic in the not too distant future. I'll keep you posted.

I have come into the hour of a white healing.
Grief's surgery is over and I wear
The scar of my remorse and of my feeling.

I have come into a sudden sunlit hour
When ghosts are scared into corners. I have come
Into the time when grief begins to flower

Into a new love. It had filled my room
Long before I had recognised it. Now
I speak its name. Grief finds its good way home.

The apple-blossom's handsome on the bough
And Paradise spreads round. I touch its grass.
I want to celebrate but don't know how.

I need not speak though everyone I pass
Stares at me kindly. I would put my hand
Into their hands. Now I have lost my loss.

In some way I may later understand.
I hear the singing of the summer grass.
And love, I find, has no considered end,

Nor is it subject to to wilderness
Which follows death. I am not traitor to
A person or a memory. I trace

Behind that love another which is running
Around, ahead. I need not ask its meaning.