A poem for All Saints Day
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death is not an ending, not a severing
of a thread, but its unraveling
when the breath of life has left us
the bonds that held our elements together
are broken; they rejoin the earth
and one thread becomes many
piece by piece, the living carry us off
and we are scattered once more
across the vast expanse of the cosmos
and of all that we were before –
memories and stories and hopes,
and love, especially love –
the threads remain, held tightly
by the hands and hearts of those we love
the web is always broken and rewoven
binding the living and the dead
until that day – the great re-raveling –
when from the farthest recesses of creation
all at last will be gathered home
and every atom and every element,
every memory and moment of love,
all our frayed and broken strands
will be rewoven into one.
This is the Day 