Alea

There are only two laments:
Specific or general.
They don’t overlap at all.

Specific grief leaves no room
For the milder mournfulness
Of all things passing away,

And to turn to specifics
Within universal grief
Vitiates catastrophe

By making it seem as if
Things could have been otherwise.
Your own loss howls in context

Of what remains for others.
There’s no fairness to your grief.
There’s no universal loss.

Risk fixes the axis, joins
The pivot between laments.
Neither individual

As fate nor universal
As change and dissolution,
Bony probability

Chuckles, tosses, and tumbles.
Anyone could win or lose,
And no one can ever win.