On certain days the sky is unbearably large.
Cloudlike ships of state cleave through the firmament,
Milk-white forms incise the crystal blue,
Swept clean by cold, persistent wind,
Purified by shafts of glinting platinum light,
Life on earth, purpose in heaven, luminous, numinous.
The enigma of why we are here,
Insignificant beneath this strident paean.
Elizabeth died on a day like this. Hearing the news
We stood by the window, looked into the puffy clouds
Conscious of each other, of larger realities,
Projecting ourselves into the endless, fathomless sky,
Holding hands and sliding through immense spaces,
Drawn along, torn and helpless as the wisps of vapour.
Elizabeth, beautiful with long black hair and brown eyes,
Luminary skin, graceful body, feminine voice;
The illness racked her, ravaged her body,
And finally, when she was yellow and wasted,
It claimed her, dust to dust. Monstrous affront,
Who were we to carry on living and stand there
Looking so ardently at the sky's brilliance,
Becoming every detail of that momentous day?
