How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door
without this shared old wooden floor?
I imagine you
will find a cat, or two or four,
a comfortable couch
a long lost pipe
and several friends.
Maybe God will find you
in the final ends
in the sky
without a roof to fix
or old front door that always sticks.
Without the creaky wooden floor of you,
what will I do?
Oh, my love, what will these tired arms do,
without you, without you?
My body knows
someday I'll fly, with or without feathers,
ashes to ashes, to be by your side.