whether imposed or chosen
something gone or taken
can be twice-buried
once in earth, once in mind

we call it tragedy or trauma
and build a wall of nacre
around the one lost thing
to silence keening

years later we discover meaning,
find that grief has taken different shapes
a muted ballad, a perpetual ode

all has gone to mist and shadows
we stop a stranger, tell the story
watch him weep, withdraw

and something trembles from the past
where we no longer visit
because pain
is not our destination.

We say,
I will not go there, and we put some music on
and dance in solitude, or wander in the garden
eating berries.