This little pile of grey silt
Sitting so soft and sparkling in my hand's palm
Is everything residual of you:
Your  laugh, your manner
The  life in your eyes, reduced and miniaturised
To  these million singular grains of dust
Each tiny one a gathered individual
An  essence of bone,

So  many of them
So  soft and sparkling
So  much left barren
For  the soul of you has been burned away
With  redwood and  gold for companion -

How  flummoxed  we  are
As  we scatter your heart and your private thought
To  the whim and turn of the wind's touch.
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