"on the ocean when you die, I don't like imagining your gawky bag of bones incinerated, sprinkled like fish flakes over an aquarium." You'll want to linger with FM Stringer's poem of grief and regret on Open Space here: https://northamericanreview.org/open-space/2025/fm-stringer/when-you-say-you-want-your-ashes-scattered
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