This morning I am with Jane's poem of June 4th. I place it here again, a poem to ponder and absorb.
June 4:
I was wise at twenty.
How close I lay to the true line of myself like a sapling to air.
There was no blame and sadness was as salt to sea.
Now I am older and innocent
a stone in the river as full as the moon
soft with the absence of so many.