When dark crawls small
around the throat,
and soul-stones grind both grey
and shiver-slow,
and tears glass-freeze
before the words,
and flow seems ebb, forever more...
just one warm word
like a candle glow...
and sunrise sings
in sky-splashed flames,
and millstone lifts
and breath is free,
and sun-drenched tears dry
with soft-healing balm,
and words surge boundless, skywards, wide
and ebb reverts to blessèd flow.
(7 March 2006)
Diana van den Berg
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-difference-made/
