The ashes of the indigent dead
rise up
again and again
they are beautiful oceans of smoke
making everything dance and sway
after these long hours
of lists and counting
of shredding and containing
of tying up and packing up
now we are finally free
ash meets soil
rises up again and again
to coat our skin
and gather in the corners of our eyes
scratch our throats
cloud our vision
the skulls have cracked and powdered
all that remains is dust
gathered, rubbed into empty palms, tossed away in the wind