Elegy for Bob Kaufman

I wanted to cry

but I saw our ashes. Ashes.

I wanted to laugh

but I saw your ashes.

Cry.

I wanted to ask

but your ashes laughed.

Ashes.

I needed to be as gray

as your ashes, as vulnerable

and alone.

Cry.

I needed to throw

your ashes

away.

Laughing.

I wanted to toss

your ashes right then.

I held the box in my hand

and saw your son

wave good-bye

as over the side of the boat

you dove.

Ashes.

I sprinkled your ashes

into the wind.

I saw the sun

leap like a whale.

I heard foghorns

bleat for love.

Ashes. Ashes.

I fell to the side

of my tears.

Laughing.

I toss your tongue

onto waves.

Laughing.

I tossed your cigarettes

into the brink.

Alone.

I said how cheap you were

when I asked for a loan.

You, with government grant

and monthly welfare check.

Big saint.

Ashes.

Cry.

I tossed ashes

into your eyes.

Laughing.

I threw my body

into your ashes.

Alone. I gave your fingers

to a storm

and passed your ashes

to another.

Crying.

I saw tears in Neptune’s

eye

and gave ashes

to a cloud

passing.

I turned your ashes

into bones, your spirit

into flesh.

Living.

I saw your ashes disappear

into water.

Alone.