Oh my I have been carrying this poem of yours in my thoughts for a while now, the burdens and delights of my memories wrapping me, growing year by year into a cocoon of my past, a kind of shroud as I grow older. There are days I wish I could turn them off, and others on which I am grateful for them

the cracked cup on the windowsill
held the entire sky in its curve,

This line brings me to tears. A cracked vase made by my son's hands while still young, vibrantly healthy and happy. One of my dearest treasures today. I'm going to move it to a windowsill so that I can see the sky.

I love this poem.