This time in your Arizona desert
I pry open that brushed gold container,
then cut the bag, careful not to spill.
I sort through your chalky ashes.
I see no bones. I recognize no bits.
But the Sedona breeze stirs us both.
The contraband candle flickers to reveal our secret.
Sissy, remember our hello?
You yelled at me when I lit the toilet paper on fire,
but gave me your Bic because I didn’t burn myself.