by Grace Schulman
Life's gains are losses: water leaches rock,
rivers erode and deltas restore the land;
the sun melts ice, turns rain to clouds of mist.
Wind that spins palms in circles like propellers
squanders its force; the fire that feeds destroys.
Each morning burns what night had bound together,
waking us, amazed, staring in wonder,
broken apart. So for all things refused,
I turn, as ships spill wind to change their course:
just as the sea recedes, I grow with loss.