I have been trying to write this poem for a long time. Today, because it's the prompt, I'll try again. It will be edited many more times I know, but for today, this is what I have.
When you died, the swallows returned.
Forked wings flitting through a dusk sky,
flight their natural habitat, hallowed right,
home at last. The swifts then too, high-fliers,
aerial acrobatics delighting in height, tilted
our heads upward. Like somehow the world, spun anew,
was trying to bring us news.
And somewhere beyond that lay truth.
So many times, the May sky, its vastness unlatched
would reveal you: blue as the heart of a star,
Icarus of our hearts, flown far.
Kaleidoscopic cosmic neon motion, reeling,
believing that even though we are incomplete -
you go on; here, there, everywhere.
*whirling around the universe