Brett Lock
Finding the grave of my father
was harder than I thought it could be.
My sister scattered his ashes in fright
and the river carried him out to sea.
There was no time for him to say
goodbye to me.
Death, when you find me,
take pity on my bones.
Carry me away the very same way,
first by the river, then by the sea.
Let the tide carry me.
Let the tide take me.