Stitches in Starlight

For Kai and Olive

The purple yarn is cradled now, the silver hook at rest,

In the quiet of a healing house, the ending of a quest.

Kai, who lived in layers—of ink and light and touch—

The friend who gave of every gift, and loved us all so much.

A midwife’s soul, a student’s heart, a healer’s steady palm,

Who turned the pressure of the world into a soothing balm.

Upon their skin, a map of lives: the planet of the lost,

To honour Jupiter, the child whose memory was the cost.

The molecule of bonding etched in lines upon the frame,

A life spent tending others' fires and soft, maternal flames.

Between the tattoos and the glints of silver, a vibrant spirit stood,

A witness to the difficult, a worker for the good.

We see them on the old train tracks, where iron meets the weeds,

Walking with the children through the tall and summer seeds.

With Willow, Kaleidopea, and Elliot by their side,

They showed them where the blossoms grow and where the beetles hide.

Those tracks remain, a steady line through wood and shale and stone,

A path they paved so that their own would never walk alone.

In the sudden, heavy silence, in the labour and the dark,

Kai reached across the boundary for a tiny, indigo spark.

Olive Indigo, a name like twilight on the deep,

Awakened from a mother’s womb into a lasting sleep.

Together now, they’ve left the rails for fields of clover-bloom,

To fly as light as butterflies beyond this narrow room.

They leave a legacy of love for those who shared their life,

A tapestry of intertwined devotion, free of strife.

No more the weary struggle, no more the laboured breath,

Just a wide and purple meadow on the other side of death.

Where Kai is stitching starlight, and the heavy shadows cease,

Holding Olive and Jupiter in the quiet, in the centre of the peace.