I put this together nine years ago, at the age of 53, after a near death experience waked me from the trance of narcissism. While hiking I fell and landed face first on a small boulder. The many hands that kept me alive over the next months got me past my attachment to loss, replacing grief with gratitude.

Eight Kinds Of Longing may also express some universal regrets of midlife. In a culture with little room for grieving, I found it helpful to break the feeling down. Actually speaking and writing out the words acknowledged some occasions that invite yearning and sorrow.

When Dylan Thomas titled a poem "A Grief Ago" he was onto something. The unfinished quality of this piece says there may be more griefs to come, but I am in no rush. I prefer now to look forward to my next breath, the next face I meet, the next chore to take care of.