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
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
