We forget what cold is like. A bus slams
into a truck at the corner, the whole
neighborhood sits up straight.
Grief, freight train in the distance
clattering on its old track.
We opened your ashes yesterday, first time.
Tried not to look at them straight on,
poured some into small bags to carry to
the islands, favorite forest, favorite beach.
And then we sealed the rest up for later.
Where is later. You will always be in it.