When the end comes
in its dark and mysterious
colors, we stand tall
as we can, and the sun
slips out from behind
the clouds and sheds its
long light back over time,
and we marvel at where
we've been, the sum
of our days, who we are,
the gifts that have been
given, and quietly we
return to the sea, from
which all things come,
rejoicing in the night,
twinkling like a star.
r.kv.r.y. quaterly literary journal
fall 2008 winter 2009 poetry

requieum for my sister
by gary hanna