By Don / Date: March 29th, 2013
This space
Once constricted
Played small
I dug out, enlarged, opened
With soft speaking, then, chisel, hatchet
Teeth, nail, poorly-chosen regretted words
And the shards of broken hope
Cleaned with tears, polished with driven-out despair
Creating a vastness
Enough to fit all of me in
There is purpose to sorrow…