Ryumon Road

They can spread my ashes
in the fields
off Ryumon Road,
where the deer come nightly,
and the moon is at its brightest.

And though gone gone
finally gone
if even one other
takes a single breath
to honor the open heart

the wind will fade,
the crickets cease,
perfect silence
fills the endless star clogged sky,
and the rightness of the universe
will come into view

for
an
instant,

until the bell
sounds out
its call
to a new day.