Season 6

The urn is smooth and silky 
in my hands.  The way 
beneath my feet, craggy.

A stumble 
launches her remains
into the wind, 
joining with the mist 
to hide my sorrow. 

You share her face. I can’t 
bear to look upon it.

Tiny creatures gather 
for an impromptu memoriam
as I harvest pieces of her 
from the garden.

Scant nourishment
for the starving.