Grandma’s ashes were scattered
in the Garden of Remembrance –
my father’s, and my aunt’s too...
your brother’s, of course – left
to the vagaries of the wind
off Devil’s Point
and mine are to be but a stone’s throw
from here; just beyond the shawl
of pines above my home.
This sky I also own – the plovers,
and the partridge, the field-mice,
and the cows, so fling me wide!
Don’t even try to dodge the dung...
for in a sunburst on the hill, you might
just catch a brief, wry smile.
The ground is already blessed
by the lightning-feet of the hare
and the petit, cloven hooves of the deer
but read a psalm, if you must, except the cry
of a red-kite to its mate shall be
my lasting homily.
Only visit, sometime...fingers crossed –
years from now. Sit and reminisce...
if you so choose,
yet don’t go looking for an answer.
Believe me, there is none,
other than this...
Know I have found my heaven,
and I hope you, in all your wisdom,
find yours, too.