When I signed for her ashes

I received her, as once
    she received me
into her lyric hold
    and let me ride anchor there,
smaller than the letter alif.

They gave her into my hands,
    seven pounds, two ounces,
as once they had given     
    me into her hands.

I set her on the hearth shrine,
    as she set me once a place at her table,
among her other needy charities.

After nine months I scattered her
    back to that cold, delphine Atlantic of hers,
to tidal squalls that rip 
    and sigh their salt across the rocks,

as once she let me fall

unready 
    onto this world’s 
gasping, shouting, love-stained shore.