Grief
Like those flowers
by the side of the road in fall
that you see first
as blurred blue
but then find here
and here
and here
again,
until they are all
that is everywhere,
so grief focuses, sharply,
as green recedes,
road fades,
and trees like shy teens try not
to be seen
and you know looking
at those blue blossoms
(even if it is not your parent
who has been lost)
that you will never be a child again, and that honestly
you have been one
your whole life long.
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Poem that I will likely link to Real Toads Open Link Forum this week. Very uncertain of line breaks, but so it goes– pic is mine. k.
ManicDDaily 
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