They said the sky was blue with no trace of a cloud

Drunkenly pure

A sea of summer prayers.

They also say as above so below

As the Father the Mother heavenly,

an unbreakable promise

joined at the heart.

Who can blame us then, the surviving,

for making up stories that suit our grief

for attempting to patch the hole of your exit

torn upon impact with insufferable pain.

Who can blame you for your thirst

all consuming,

and for the cup to your mouth that would rush

(this was certain) the sky in, drunkenly pure with

No trace of a cloud.