of your death, and the summer sky
dissolved to black, held its breath
a long count
in every color, sparks raining
down on the dark river
that flows as certain as your songs.
Deep blues, bright blues, mauve, and
rose pink fire; and the work
of mourning beneath
a celebration that inspires
marvel. And this: wreath after wreath of white
bloomed that night; there has never
been so much pure white light
in that usually gaudy display. White
for angels, purity, grief;
white, the color of absence.
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