The day after I die.


and she died. (but I don’t know when and where).

she died.

and when she died, they did not know where to bury her.
they whispered that;
she did not know home,
only places.
and they whispered;
there are
no lands to embrace her cold body.
even earth, with all its people, with all its glamor, was a lonely place.
even in her death, it did not want her.
(the earth said no.)
(it did.)
not her.
not here.

and for a while there would be nothing. but closed eyes.

They burned her body to ashes, and went on a bridge by the Moldau river; her favorite river of all.
They played the Moldau Song, by Smetana.
They read her favorite line of poetry.
then they let her ashes fly away with the wind,
they let her mingle with the air,
they set her free to the sky,
where she spent most of her time anyway.
sky was home.
and oh, was it not the sweetest homes of all?


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