how to not make waste;
cry over everything so
pain does not go to

the flies over graves.
let it go to art or love
maybe something sane.

water your plants each
waking day so they can live
but when it comes time

for burning season,
cry over everything so
they know you miss them.

the fields are empty
now / a cremation of your
dust you couldn't have saved

anyone/ so you
exist in utter shame and
return to our dust.