These Are My People: Diane Rutherford

A poem for Indi and Diane

I heard you crying

There are no words for their deepened grief that can make it any less.
There are no words for their bereavement that can make end time regress.
They understand that their valediction can bring the nethermost sadness.
The tenderest of beings and the sweetest of souls, finds rare solace.

They do it anyway because the honor of the hard won trust
moves gently around their spirits like precious diamond dust
They give their love with wild abandon from one soul to another
with unwavering faith and elation, like a good child to their mother.

The tenderest of beings, the sweetest of souls, find rare solace;
steadfast between these kindred hearts this their solemn promise
Until the last star vanishes, until the sun goes dark,
there will always be a place, within each others hearts.