in the night, strong winds
knocked the robin’s nest from our porch—
tiny losses, fragile and blue.
Add it to the list of losses—
that ever-lengthening list
we each of us carry
through our coping—
a house in the woods, travel,
books and food, tears,
Sex and friends and wine
and laughing
and dancing, badly
Some years,
losses flow by us,
fast current we can step into
or away
Some years, our losses are boulders piled on
holding us frozen in place
But even boulders wear down
Eventually
become stones we carry in our pockets
By now, by our age,
all our pockets are full to overflowing
and still
we add more
Lucky. Lucky us to have loved so well
and been loved so well
That we have so much to carry
Puff Of Smoke Poems 