Don’t put me in a coffin. Much better to find a small box for ancient gray ash that could be Vesuvius or that little dog I used to pet. I want no more me, no more memories etched around empty eyes or lonely hands that would’ve carried more, so much more, but were robbed by other death, nearer loss and love that still-chokes all earth. No, burn me into nothing for I endure no more.
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G Beckman 