I think I know where to let you rest:
In the care of the mother of lullaby:
my old Umbrella tree
that was chopped down, but came back
As a different tree.
You know, I discovered God there when I was eight;
I’d sit in the emerald sanctuary for hours and sing Amazing Grace,
watching the teeny ants walk in their predetermined paths
up and down the living branches while I sang and dreamed
of nothing in the future or past
but in the present moment, where time seemed to expand and contract,
expand and contract, like a mother, breathing with a child in her lap.
What if, when I spread your ashes there
I don’t say a word,
but let the wind and time and the sky pass by
and come back as night and day.
What if I could never articulate how much I love you,
and how I miss you, and how I give you back to the mystery
that brought us together in the first place.
Trust that all is as it should be
With the Catalpa tree, and you and me.