When You Cremate Me

After Jane Hirshfield

burn my yellow-white skin like

a phoenix promising any

thing can become another.

you burn an object

the flakes blackened and whited

but think of camellia sinensis &

with steam, tea leaves un-rounded

in warmest liquid, lavender and

bergamot and cinnamon yet

i am not tea. i am not a

vessel to place on a chair

and confide in.

i am like snow

still falling, light. it is

leaves & ashes always

adrift. free, not sad