Love

Love is like a braid 
lives crossing, sometimes twisting
god in the middle

You Can't Outrun Sorrow

Four deaths, four years

Mother 

Friend

Brother

Other Mother

Each anniversary
a punctuation mark
like a shovel
re-digging the hole

of grief 

Then,

365 rungs

to climb out

                                                     You can't outrun sorrow

                                                             so go limp

                                                       when it catches you

  And hope

for a taller ladder

- or smaller shovel 

next year