When I am dead, cremate me.
It's always been my goal
to crumble into ashes on
a lump of red-hot coal,
to burst in flames and fall apart,
to gambol and cavort
with mulch and sand and flecks of dirt
and dead things of that sort.
Then wait until the ashes cool,
then take them in your palm
and weep for me while muttering
a pretty verse or psalm,
then toss me in a wave that laps
a narrow band of shore,
commend me to the undertow,
and think of me no more.
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