I want to rush headlong over the edge of the cliff after him
or the projection of him, or the ghost of him
or the habit of my own suffering, but the Angels hold me back
glare of the sunny Saturday is softened
by the golden wings of my Hawk Husband
by the deep blue Stargate of Orion that is above even the Sun
by the kindness of the Sky Grandmothers
and the welcome of my Medicine families
of the open plains and rolling hills of the bright daylight
there is a bird
she scurries along besides me through the underbrush
as I walk along the dirt path
I stop to speak of my Love for her
I offer my Blessing and receive hers