Aron Wander

Often, we forget

that love, too, can end beautifully,
like a last baby tooth or sunset, the sky
framed against buildings struck scarlet and blue
and made suddenly fuller. I suppose you could say the same
about anything, that it could end like evening,
with dignity, the way revolutionaries stood before the guillotine.
The quiet grace of the sky as it becomes something older.
It is not much help to say that all things go suddenly or softly,
bathroom lights or crumbling plateaus, but they do.
The tide comes one way or another and we walk,
full-breasted, bent, bowing.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Aron Wander is a Cambridge-based writer, organizer, and rabbi-in-training. His work has been published in Thimble Literary Magazine, The Curator and elsewhere. He likes mysticism, sci-fi, and scavenging for used books.