The remains
Confront us.
Hangared too close
Words won't come;
The balsa body
Asks us to admit
We need gravity.
Above Grief's hold
When we laughed
At our morbid observations
We could only laugh
Laughter held us up.
Instrumentation
Pilots soullessly
Energized,
By our grace,
Wishes come true...
Not from tossing,
Launching away,
Silvery coinage
Of being alive.
See the stars?
Wishes come true...
not buried at the fairy ring --
Real wishes are sourced
Within our own being;
Soaring beyond thought.
Seeing through the void.
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