Brother when I die
my ashes go to your house.
Confusion where to scatter
is all I’ll leave.
We are here
because our mother was here.
That was the body.
When I take mine off
what will be left?
A thing with no pockets
and empty of its glue.
Brother when I die
I stay
and the world moves away
light as a bee from a flower
leaving new words
bit carefully deep.
I will touch my marked-up
and say look
at all these names.