to become sky
after a fateful death
your voice the wind;
in day the sun to
shine your pleasures,
in night the moon
to have the young
in soul in love with you;
the clouds to decorate
your grandness,
the stars to be your
weary eyes,
the birds in flocks
to be your suitors;
for planes to pass
you through as
man attempts to
mimic greatness
as man attempts to
interfere, to raise himself;
to level with his fear;
to mimic sea
and have it mimic you
as you collide in somber blue;
with waves to fall
back onto earth
eternal, in your passing.