When
I am turned to ash
I want you
knowing
that I hear your footfalls
in the ancient forest,
the scream of hawks,
the water crazy-mad flowing
down to the sea
and I want
you knowing
that I see you
on your knees in the garden
your hands a riot of colors
poppies, begonias, columbine and larkspur
that grow beneath you, beside you, near you
and I want you
knowing that I feel
your beating heart
a still-questing spirit
even with everything that has happened
so when I am ash
you will have these words
to sustain you.
A Long Perspective 