Waste and Resurrection and Loss

Can things you associated with someone you love--songs, places, sweaters, friends--resurrect? I asked myself that a couple of years ago. They can. As Rilke wrote: you must live the questions themselves, and one day you may live into the answer.  A poem from Kay Ryan's "Say Uncle" put me in mind of waste, and resurrection, and loss. Here's the poem:

Waste

Not even waste 

is inviolate.

The day misspent,

the love misplaced,

has inside it

the seed of redemption.

Nothing is exempt

from resurrection.

It is tiresome

how the grass

re-ripens, greening

all along the punched

and mucked horizon

once the bison

have moved on,

leaning into hunger

and hard luck.