Offering

We drove to the mountain with

his ashes in a shoebox by my side.

It was perfect as the sun began

to fade in the winter light.

 

We climbed the platform

and down below

Phillip Glass’s

‘Offering’ rang out.

 

It was perfect as perfect is,

and when we got to the top,

I recited a poem from Clouds,

You can never go home.

 

My friend tipped the ashes

out and they shimmered

like curtains one after

the other.

 

And the light was ever

so small. A spark of

life for the approaching

night.

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