Spirited

 

In little jars 

and box I keep of  you

the piece that never 

really left.

I collect them everyday,

from the dreams that we saw, 

the pictures that you painted and 

the songs that I wrote.

Piles and piles that 

I gather for unceasing embers.

I stare at them, 

with eyes wide open

and slowly I see, 

the flames weeping. 

I buried the ashes with 

two seeds and out of them 

grew trees that I haven't laid 

my wootz on, yet.