she knew not to ask, or least never did,
“before me,” (or after), but took in as breath
this grace, this given, this into, this next.
maddening the brambles climbed through to this moment,
scraping our knees and our hearts, scrambles come.
and now, this leaving, as if God were over!
as if there were not yet more ground to be covered,
dancing the edge of this chasm we spanned,
white falls the snow on the quicksand we’ve ribboned,
dusting the “done” of our lives yet again.