Because Paul was so young when he died,
and had such a free spirit,
I couldn't bear the thought
of his being in the dark ground
so we scattered his ashes on the hills
where he has been filled with light,
held together by snow and ice.
As I approach my own ending,
at times I feel sad that not anywhere
in the world is there a stone
that records his short life.
My most recent wistfulness
was brought on by a keening gull.
I thought of my own death; my grave will be
on land which will remember me,
where I've walked barefoot countless times
as a child, the brow of the hill,
above the ocean, with a stand of trees.
The gull's lament a warbler's trill
will be my companions
for the long silence.