Today I touched your life
with gloved hands
your story in a few hundred pages
your heartbreaks
and handguns
the worlds you hoped 
to build for yourself
in that flurry of receipts
and licenses
your father's obituary
the picture posed with your mom
I imagined that day
you signed over your son
to someone else's care
and every hour you bent
over another child's hands
as you taught him to play
with bow and strings
In the end this is each of us
wrapped in paper
ash, and loose change

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