Keep It

Apr 06 2019

Bright April morning
blows birdsong through my screen door.
What a way to wake!

Half-aware of its insides,
I gather my form’s edges.

Something exploded
in a place no one visits,
last night in Heaven.

You can keep the things that pass,
in pitch, in an empty jar.

Open it to the sun:
I do not have reason
to empty my ashes.

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