DON’T PLANT FLOWERS ON MY GRAVE

I’m coming back!

I need all the nutrients I can get

to reincarnate as a Bald Eagle, —

a spiritual messenger, say Navaho,

Lakota, Pawnee and Choctaw tribes.

Everyone that mattered to me

will see me flying high

over a flawless blue sky,

the sun glinting off the ripples

sprinkled with diamonds of light.

Perched on a high rock,

I will keep an eye on all of you,

monitoring lives like the stage manager

in “Our Town.”I will peek into homes

and break into encrypted cell phones.

Consumed by the presence of your absence,

I want all of you who have been loved

to know, you will never be forgotten

by the dead me.