I want my body to be cremated.

Weigh my ashes as against my flesh.

The difference would be of my soul’s.

Much of my leaving soul is water

from each of my cells after the long years of lingering

edema. Much of my soul would be water

gushing like geysers above my earthen remains

in the form of vapor trying to escape

from every crevice of the cold kiln.

And my soul would become clouds.

Find me in the sky, a tiny turtle in the sea

swimming among the flock of flying fish.

Later at night, it would rain

seawater from the sky.

Bathe in my soul.

Dance with me in the rain while all of my soul

would trail every inch of your tender skin

sealing with moist kisses the wounds you left hidden.

And in the morning, while still drenched

reach for the urn and mold my ashes into a rock

to be thrown into that stream at the back of our house.

A plop would signal the happy reunion of my remains,

and my soul, while freely flowing, would await another skyward journey

To reappear above as a tiny turtle in the sea.

And we shall dance together again.