I’m told it came on as a headache
on a ship farther north
than she ever imagined, farther,

off the coast of Greenland, late summer,
the sky in its acutest light
as if sent from the other world

for these last of her moments.
Her companion was a devotee
and appropriate company

to bid her farewell into wherever
her own small ship we call the spirit
sails her off to next.  It’s the suddenness

that shocks, the lack of preparation,
the instantaneous disappearing act,
the now-you-see-her-now-you-don’t

magic of the fact.
True, less suffering that way,
and she was happy, and isn’t that

what we would want for ourselves?
To leave at the very moment of ecstasy?
Breathing pure air, in the inexhaustible light, in love?