Cast my ashes wide and far.
Don't leave them trapped
Inside a jar,
Resplendent on a plinth of wood
Where they can't do any good.
These seeding scattered shards,
Might grime a hiker's boot,
And blot the sky with soot,
Or settle to wick the searching root,
Of a thirsty sprouting shoot.
That shoot might feed a passing deer,
Or ferment in a vat of belching beer,
To feed a poet's bright idea,
Of how a kiss might conquer fear,
And even death itself.
Another speck may end up mired,
In a crucible of seething fire,
Filled with an alchemist's dark desire,
For immortal gold and trans-celestial power.
Yet more may blow into the sea,
A toxic soup of primal algae,
Or a verdant tide of languid leaves,
Impelled by pulsing silken strands of soft
anemones.
The sun, itself, will blow
both hot and cold,
And all that we hold dear will scatter to a
cloud of dust,
Glowing with ghostly memories,
Of what was fated to be lost.
The jetsam of a star,
Grown immense and feeble,
In a single blast.
I will not live to see another dawn,
But do not weep or mourn.
It was enough the little atomies
Permitted just this single dance.
Scatter them as deep as your eyes can see.
I am content they'll have another chance.
Sweeping more sintered parts along,
To join a jostling lilting throng,
As
others danced in me.