Read this while listening to Sting’s “Love is the 7th Wave” from 1985’s Dream of the Blue Turtles, which runs in my head as I write. (Megwetch, Mr. Sumner, for that&many more songs).

at the edge of darkest season

as the bright and ripe subside

in rolling sober robes, november

high above the city thermals

far, in shawls against the stars

the lights array

loved ones gone, their moments

sundered from us by the knife

of time, undulled, unwavering

inexorably gone to dust and history

still catch the breath

these nights, as they first learn

the rhythm of the dance between

the worlds, their holy blessing

in those shawls of light that lift

against the stars, a dim reminder

in a glimmer, of their beauty

of their hearts, their pain

their ways, their voices never

again among us, but lingering

in that faint song

that falls between cathedral bell

and siren, under wind and over

dreams, that song

untouchable, they’ve gone

to dance among the ancestors

and we are left

to fear, to wonder

to tears

and to stand, with eyes uplifted

watching the sentient swirl

reach down, reminding us

home, thinly veiled

ever moving, home

we are making this

that makes us and unmakes us

veiled, veil and unveiling

the shimmer of transcendence

shiver of frail hold, then

in a breath, welcoming

the warm dark throb of heartbeats

still entrained to life.

In gratitude for the spirits of those beloved ones near and far who walked on in this year. May those souls be at rest in peace and in power, in love above all else.