There was no argument, when he was gone.
The Roaches: he belonged there, on that hill.
She climbed the path with me at eighty-one
to leave his remnant and respect his will.
Now older and alone, I’m coming back.
It looks the same, after eleven years
I walk that old familiar mountain track
to reunite his residue with hers.
It would be nice to think they somehow know
I’m here, stir in their other-worldly sleep.
I can’t believe it. There is comfort, though
to have this place, a treasure house to keep
my memories. Mum, Dad – till I’m ashes too
this hill will be inseparable from you.