It Goes

I can understand.

I can acknowledge.

I can still refuse

To accept what I know,

What I at least suspect.

It’s not the loss I loathe,

That is, not the emptiness

I know I can never know—

It’s the gift of everything,

Moss, body, sun, and dust—

The quiet passage, stone

Bench with views to heavens—

Given me freely,

That has to take me

With it as it goes.