The ashes have arrived.

There is no receptacle in sight
To hold them within.

At first it is held with reverence
Or at least, a modicum of deference –
There is a pervasive sense
Of the loss,
Of a life that has come to a close.

Presently, calm descends,
The hands that hold the bag of ashes
Set it down on the countertop
And then recede to the bustle of the world
To tend to the many things that need to be done.

The spell of whatever it was
That had taken over for the briefest moment
Has been well and truly broken.

The ashes have settled.

Safe in a bag placed
A few inches shy of the edge
Of a busy countertop –
Amidst keys, photo frames and countless other things,
None of which matter to the life
That is now contained within
A plastic bag, awaiting an urn.