Liminal

we live in the in-between

Flocks of sandhill cranes are flying
over the skies of central Indiana.
Their soft cooing and intermittent flutters of breath
punctuate the soundtrack of my afternoon
while getting the mail, or cleaning up the poop
in the backyard
on the days after our dog passed away
after 16 years of friendship.

Looking for common pathways
of visions seen
and visions shared
and this process amidst chores of the everyday
is comforting to me.
Even if it involves poop.

The coming days and weeks will bring
many unknown feelings and decisions.
How do I cradle my grown children,
how do I cradle my aged parents,
how do I mend broken hearts?

I wonder and hope and lament
over thoughts and dreams
that haunt
and linger
but will hopefully drift
further along
with coo’s and cries of transient sorrow.