Ribbons

The ribbon---
Now cut;
A neat snip of black cloth
On black cloth.
It disappears
Against a background of grief.


The ribbon---
Now cut;
It used to be torn.
Rent.
A whole tapestry,
A whole life.
Ripped and frayed,
Separate from itself.
No neat edges
Or symmetry,
No patchwork grace.
Just tangled threads,
Broken strands,
Dark on darker still,
Seasoned with salt and ash.


That ribbon of black---
Now cut;
Threaded through with light
That dances on hard edges
And skims along soft folds,
Offering a pale benediction,
And a sacred comfort,
A holy silence---
In a ribbon of black
Shot through with light
And cut---
Now cut,
Now broken
And frayed
And ragged-edged,
Woven in grief and praise.