Angel   

I sink my shovel into the soil under the angel statue.

It slides in easily, as if it were meant to go there.

There is a pocket under the statue, a place made just for you.

I open the small canister and take a pinch of you.

I sprinkle you in the warm fragrant space.

I feel your bone and your ash, the last I will ever touch of you.

I watch the last bits fall into earth, becoming one with the small piece of the earth that I own.

Goodbye.

I close the rich soil over your place and arrange the flower and herb plants around your angel.

Goodbye.

I will see you again.

In the faces of my children.

In the blue sky like your eyes.

In the warmth of your sweater.

In the art that your mind created.

In the alto voice you gave me.

And maybe in the realm you now call home.

Goodbye.