Velvet Sack

She handed me a small velvet sack.
“What’s this? I asked.
“George’s ashes,” she replied.
I opened the bag and peered in:
Sure enough! White ashes!

Here was my friend,
what was left of what he had been,
except for experiences had
that in memory are still alive
and will be until I am ashes.

Then will be alone, except for ashes
and this poem.