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.