On a Failed Second Adoption

I am spatched flat,
leeched and rasped
by the shape life now
will never take.

My eyes slit, shift,
only to root my spot:

the children’s toys
the empty chair
the man descending the spiral stair
the French doors opening to other rooms
the garden beyond in silent bloom.

*

It is late afternoon.
Through wooden slats
the honey sun
coats the walls,
enrobes me
lying here.
Pansies unshield their faces,
reveal their finch-bright hearts.
Grace alights.

*

My mind’s eye flares
with pain’s paired prize.
What remains can still be glorified:

a glowing room
a growing child
a steady man
an opened hand.