you suggested that we could
put you on the soles of our feet
and walk where we know peace to be.

or else just let you hang from a branch
leave you for the birds to pick at, for the wind and rain to wash away
erase any trace of your body

it was chosen that you get burned up
returned to this earth as ash and dust

Now I can cup you in my weeping hands
all powdery bones and iron will
the sum of you doesn't equal much

you used to appear largely at random
but since you became this small,
you are everywhere, showing up as everything, anything
shapeshifting with ease from a mountain to a tree
a gull drifting in the starboard breeze

since the day breath ceased
silence started talking
she sounds a whole lot like you
pages and pages of truth
maybe I just wasn't listening closely before.
maybe my door was closed to the thought of you
becoming only thought.
is it too late to say that
i think of you a lot.

i think of you a lot.