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.
This is really interesting and poignant.