The End of the Journey

My  grief sails through joy 
refusing to
tack the line of others-
straight, plain, flat and so so still-
the reason why I love it so.
No haven of pine and sand,
just mangrove roots
gnarled but knotted strong,
holding the beach against
the hurricane .
That it stands and so do I
is not a measure of what
I’ve known, or even the truth,
but all that I’ve lost.
Jonathan Moya reads The End of the Journey