I bury my parents daily
Sometimes they just cry

And I have to remind them
I’ve got things to do here

I’ll see them soon
It’s all just a matter of time

I tell them I see them everywhere
In the faces of the young and old

In the lady crossing the street with a walker
In the baby out of a sepia photo

I scatter their ashes nightly 
With a look at distant stars

Thinking of that dust where it travels 
And all the things it becomes