there are millions of us
the injured and those who love them, cast afloat on this ever changing tide
some whole, seeming untouched, floating high and strong…others less so, yet still much of their former self-ness in evidence
then, there are those who are but fragments…recognizable only to familiar eyes, and mothers’ hearts
we float…some seek comfort in familiar groups, rising and falling with the phases of the moon
others float on in solitude…silently desperate, utterly alone…slowly disappearing over the horizon
missed by no one
salvation is finding one another on the tide, reaching out, holding fast
©2017
lingering son 