Your ashes take flight,
flirting with every flower you find,
in a garden that is mine,
mine alone.
It could have been yours,
if you didn’t descend,
desecrated plastic,
permanently banished.
Photographs,
promises,
leap into the air,
as ashes,
and I give birth to a girl,
Bambi legs,
brown eyes,
that find the future,
in the setting sun.
