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.