Miscarriage

My mind is not at home tonight.
It begs your pardon for taking leave,
but it felt the need to wander a bit,
through sunset downs,
and curl up in the shadow of a twilit tree.

Sometimes the Soul is a prickly bedfellow,
so Mind mindfully slips away to allow Soul
its Space to slowly pack away the unused hopes,
Time to put the possibilities back in the attic,
a Chance to rearrange the living room of life to suit
Life.
Now.

Then, when every tiny finger of a dream is packed up,
and the work-a-day worries and mercies are out for use again,
Mind will come in, look around, and smile at Soul,
go up to the attic,
and grieve.

Because hopes are not things to be thrown away.
They should live in boxes in the basements of our lives
while Mind,
Soul,
 and Spirit
bustle and breathe,
groan and believe
that there is a Reason for all things.