SCATTERED
The bluffs you say
the bluffs
and I try to imagine them
holding his ashes
a smidgen of him
nestled in a crevice
which remains dark
and cool despite the Shawnee sun
beheld by damselflies
the river singing him
lullabies all day and all night
in all seasons
never mourning
never guilt aggrieved
just her green
sacramental waters
soiled with tears
flooded with prayer.
Lovely. Just right.
ReplyDelete