Below the Paris to Seattle sky bus,
a cloud path seems to lead to Shangri-La,
some impossibly beautiful cloud country only spirits can enter.
And I know she is leaving.
Over there, icebergs
and shipwrecked ocean liners,
giant frogs posing as princes,
a burning arrow of pink-gold cloud, a peony.
*
Were we close?
Only as close as twins
who do not know where one begins
and the other ends.
Were we close?
Only as close as two fledgling elf owls,
one a little noisier, finding shade in a saguaro
from the Arizona heat.
Were we close?
Only as close as two children of tender natures,
daughters of a Viking mother—
magnificent—but tough.
Were we close?
Close as two girls, one who loved playing with dolls,
the other, playing with characters in books,
both knowing early on which would be a mother.
Were we close?
Close as two swimmers
in red tank suits, passing the baton
in a relay race.
Were we close?
Close as two best friends, 11 and 12,
trying out our first tampons
in the bathroom at midnight.
Were we close?
Close as two Nordic girls
who gravitate to the sea,
high school in La Jolla.
Were we close?
Close as two astonished virgins
discovering sex the same summer,
one in Zurich, one in Paris.
Were we close?
Close as a pair of ears
thrilling to Dylan’s “All Along the Watch Tower”
and “Lay, Lady, Lay.”
Were we close?
Close as Betty’s daughters, raving about the best books,
The Wizard of Oz to Mrs. Dalloway,
In Arabian Nights to Duino Elegies.
Were we close?
Close as two horses nickering,
galloping, freed, ecstatic
in Berkeley in the '60s.
Were we close?
Close as two artists’ models
costumed as the Mad Hatter and the Dormouse
at an art class Tea Party in Kroeber Hall.
Were we close?
Close as two Viking daughters
setting sail for adventures in the ‘70s
on trimaran and schooner.
Were we close?
When one was in trouble in Ecuador,
she didn’t have to say a thing,
the other leaped to go.
Were we close?
Close as two female artists, slowly learning
how to stay devoted to the making, the shaping,
and cheering each other on.
Were we close?
Close as two monks
who value simple food
and silence.
Were we close?
All our lives when the phone rang,
we knew
when it was the other.
Were we close?
Praying for each other to find a worthy mate,
one who’d be there through celebration and suffering,
the failing body, sailing the long distance with us through the end.
Were we close?
Close as daughters of a splendid father,
fighting for him to finish his life as he wished,
exulting with our family when he returned as hawk.
Were we close?
Close as two art lovers,
speechless at Louise Bourgeois at the Pompidou,
a woman telling deep, difficult truth through her art.
Were we close?
Close as two stars
in opposite constellations,
the Centaur and the Twins.
Were we close?
Close as a dreamer
dreaming with Jane through the bardos,
through the long journey home.
Were we close?
Close as two stars in the same immensity,
connected to each other, and you,
through our shining.
*
Out of thick fog,
two points of a star lit with gold,
or the tail of a fish:
Seattle.
Pine trees, gold
light and sea.
Serenity over all.
Roar of the plane descending.
Race to Swedish Hospital
with Jon and Leatrice. Already there:
Betty, Suki, Ann, Greg,
Bayu, Rachel and Liza.
Jane in bed,
eyes closed, struggling for breath,
beautiful as ever. We hold her hands,
stroke her brow. An hour later, she goes.
Are we close?
Always.