More Than Life

Touch

You didn’t want to go,
whole, into the earth
because you thought people,
like you with your tiny life,
meant little in the running
of the human race.
You said all your body would be,
afterwards,
was a posh compost heap.

You didn’t fancy cremation,
your grit flung in favourite places,
us stung by the loss of you,
slapped back by the wind,
spitting shocked laughter.
You said it would spoil
the view for visitors.

Shove you in a black bin-liner,
now you’d shrunk you would fit
in with the rubbish, you joked.
You didn’t want me fussing,
didn't want me to be sad.

So I have enshrined you,
your transcendent honesty,
here, in this poem,
where you'll still touch.