We Who Grieve
Brandon Cook
We are the light brigade, charging into the face of death’s dark wings
We are the night walkers, snatching the prized egg from death’s own nest
We are the soul-shaken ones who discover, after desolation, green sprigs remain
And we discover—in the end—that loss distills us, like gin
Until we are suddenly birthed again, as Jonah
Onto good sweet earth
So grateful for sand and grit and dirt