another anniversary passed that he didnt celebrate

he did however acknowledge it

bittersweet

remembrances he shared quietly  inside himself   thought them through thoroughlywiped a tear from his eye as one does when remembering thingsjoyous things  bygone

he didnt utter a word

and as all things that are passedthese in particular  when he was dead    they would die with him  their perspectives their stamped coins their etched glass  these memories couldnt be sifted out of his ash not melted metal not slag or beads of glass  nothing   nothing more than cold grey ash mixed with his cold grey ash

oddly he took comfort in that

that he and they were inseparable  coalesced  one

                                           and when handfuls of his ash were tossed into the air at the foot of the hill the old cemetery stood on at the confluence of two Bitterroot valleys and they swirled like fading woodsmoke

hed take his rightful place in the world as insignificantly as he was

it was an enormous world and universe and universes

there was no sense trying to parlay any worth amid its endless howling systems and circuits and eddies and devises

he was

he wasnt

he could acknowledge that

             

1222,  Sunday,  15  1. 17