We have our rituals, our ceremonies: what color of rice to make into sweet cakes for arrivals and departures, weddings or funerals. Why we place money bills in a pocket, or break the rosary cord before wrapping it around the hands of the dead. We say, go now; go sweet into the fields without borders, closing the old wounds as you go. Go without rancor, softening at last under the moon's copper sheen. Your face will remain as a lamp to all who are left in your wake; the flood of ache release from the dams in your feet.