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.