Love, leave me like the light, 
The gently passing day; 
We would not know, but for the night, 
When it has slipped away. 

So many hopes have fled, 
Have left me but the name 
Of what they were. When love is dead, 
Go thou, beloved, the same. 

Go quietly; a dream 
When done, should leave no trace That it has lived, except a gleam 
Across the dreamer’s face.

~Countee Cullen

what are you seeking? what moves you around the heart?

inquiry for today~ when did you know love?

how to be missed

Refuge- Sometimes a nook, a wall half down,

a swerve in the path where the breeze can’t catch you;

other times a made shelter,

a shepherd’s build-up of flat stones curved to keep the wind off.

Once, at the top of the pass, it was a cave in the living rock,

taking you in from the swirl and eddy of snow

and the killing cold so you could live to the grey blank dawn.

Then in Galicia, it was a breath of warmth from a kitchen door,

palatial with light,

and a daughter’s smile, the family behind,

asking you in, as if to say, of all shelter,

traveler, you’ll ever find on the road,

even with those you know,

the stranger’s love is best of all.

~David Whyte