Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror 
up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look, and instead, 
here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. 
If it were always a fist or always stretched open, 
you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small 
contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated 
as birdwings