Father, I hope this can will do; it’s Folgers.
You loved your coffee black, mud strong.
I remember how to make it,
Water in the ***.
Float the grounds.
Boil ’til they sink.
Campfire style, you called it.
That last cup, pour careful,
so as not to get the grit. I remember
how it went.

But Father, once I do this
once we commit your ashes to the sea;
once I pour this can of dust into the river,
what then?

What should I do
with this old empty coffee can?