Wood

There are so many things I will not tell you. 

Not because they feel like a barbed secret, gingerly held. 

Not because I would avoid the telling. 

But because I would not have you descend, even in imagination, into this terrible wood. 

There are fearsome things you do not need to see. 

Burdensome memories you have not been asked to carry. 

Beloved, I pray to God with my whole being you never will be! 

I would not bring you here, because I love you. 

Grief for a child can only be compared to grief for a child. 

The first moment, the first day, the nights, the dreams, the snapshots seared into memory.

I will not give these to you, for I do not have the heart. 

But I will tell you Love is found, even here. 

And I am not lost, although I do not always know the way. 

And I will send up a light, arching above the treetops, so you can mark my heart’s progress.