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Bruce.

Bruce passed this morning.


I lit my candle


And arranged my stones


In a way that would have


Horrified him.


That makes me laugh.


Of course,


No one understands what a spirit is.


What it does or


Where it moves.


But I can hope for the best,


And I want to.


So I remember


And smile in a way


That clenches up my belly


And wets my face.


And I hold my best, bluest stone to my


Chest


And wish him well.


My short candle will burn out soon.


Then, I'll light a new, fresh


Green candle.


And bid his spirit welcome


To whatever it wants next.

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