She left the way she entered,

In pain and darkness, with a press of

      strong flesh about her.

How can these be the same,

such powerful but different forces.

First: love, pain, anticipation, fear.

The finish: Controlling, calculating, loveless,

      The pain only hers.

      The fear only hers.

I like to think that nurture awaited

       as it did at the beginning.

With it, the peace she never found

       while searching here -

It’s hard to find that from which

       you run.

Maybe at the end she ran toward it.

Ran. Sailed. Flew.
        Anything but nothing.

I can no longer beg for her safety.

There was no listening ear.

All that remains is hope,

Hope, at least, for the peace.