This is what death means; a loosening
A shucking-off, a slipping knot, a door opened.
Time and Space all spread out. The Universe's infinite jewellery
Creation lavish with stars. And at its heart, the singing.
This is what life means; a night-time garden
A bower of green vines cruel with spring. Through them, those stars
Are far too far. Beyond all planes or spaceships. Not hearts of fire
But pinpricks blurred by tears. The rough matrix of grief
In which is found, like a diamond
The painful certainty of being loved.
A/n: I wrote this late at night, after re-watching Invasion of the Bane. Farewell, Elisabeth; farewell, Sarah Jane.