He said, the bones hold memories
Cremation can't remove;
I cradle your bones, the precious

Silt-glass reveries of watered sun,
A singing motion that circles round
(And every kind of hidden weather)

Nothing's dead, so long as bones live-
Survival's inexact, because those bones
Still whisper days, that now are gone.

Patti Masterman

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bones-hold-memories/