I pour myself another absinthe And I can’t help but think Your ashes are not the fine dust I imagined My first love, my last love My longest My shortest I will not bury you in the earth where your mother most desires you You will become part of the heavy wood Buried beside my roses Red as the blood that sang through your veins will be those petals that fell to the ground Strong stems growing up like the bones you so much relied on A classic flora, a heady scent I take you home for your roots to take flight But first, in the dawns early light I pour myself another drink and wait