Carefully arranged,
He lay there.
Hair tied back,
Exposing his beautiful face,
Hiding the proof of his autopsy.
Arms crossed gently across his chest,
Tucked quietly beneath the native blanket,
As if to keep him warm,
He waited.
He seemed ready.
We hesitated,
Resisted,
Refused,
And then relented.
Each in our own time,
We said goodbye.
Touched his hair,
Kissed his cheek one last time,
Hugged him softly,
So as not to reveal the Y shaped scar
Carefully concealed beneath his arms and blanket.
When all were done,
She gave him sage
To guide him on his journey home.
He seemed relieved.
The oven warmed while we grieved.
The door opened slow and wide.
The warmth and light of the oven's flames
Reached for him greedily.
He preferred ashes to dust.
As the sage and sinew burned,
They fell together,
The sacred herb and remnants of his physical form
Inseparable in death
As they were in life.
