A smear of ashes, not pink paper hearts,
is my valentine for you:
my death I give you,
and everything in between,
my fragile, feeble flesh,
soon to decay again to dust,
made alive not by my will
but by your breath.
May I be good dust for you,
clay made holy as the jar of your light,
this paper heart, torn and beautiful,
my mortal whole, given wholly,
these ashes saved from my urn
I give to you: my valentine,
my life, returning, always returning
to you.
—February 14, 2018