When a Giant Dies

It's hard -
So very hard -
when a giant dies.
They tend to fall in
fields of flowers -
wild, riotous colors
smelling of liquid night
and electric sky.

The birds know,
and the wind.
They pay tribute,
not quite hushed but
reverent still.
The sun and moon
dance together in a pale sly
and a handful of stars
catch in trees that
have known heat and thirst
yet are laden with green
and leaves of
heartbreak gold.
The whole world
is filled with glory.

It is so very hard when giants die,
hard to stand m their shadow,
with the bones of earth
and dust,
but I have been witness
to their majesty,
and I have wept
at the beauty
and grace
and the riot of color
as the earth welcomed
this giant home.


For the Notorious #RBG