when i go:
scatter my ashes in that clear cold stream.
let the current take me down,
down,
to that small place,
where god stains her cheeks with river-clay
and cicadas scream sweet hymnals.
where life is raw and quiet and sublime
and the worms find heaven in
the damp dark spaces.
i will scrape my knees on mossed concrete
wash the blood in the water like isaac upon the altar.
in that small place i am holy;
i am whole.
