POETREE

Of course, this is at once a complete lie and a truth entire, depending simultaneously on your definition of "heal" and of "wound" and, for that matter, of "truth".

Mary Oliver says:

... to live in this world

you must be able
to do three things
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust: from stardust we are made; to stardust we'll return. That is healing, of a kind.

( Each From Different Heights, by Stephen Dunn )

Grief doesn't leave us, but we find ways to shift the furniture around it; we learn to live with it, with its tempers and burning needs and silent solitary reflection, and find that perhaps after all it is not so bad a housemate.

Moment by moment, in the flow of our selves and our breath, we are building lives - and poetry is a means of preserving moments.