When I am gone, do not visit me at my grave
I am so much more than what lies underneath
I do not belong to a piece of earth, tied down
In so many ways, I am still around
Can you not feel me in each caress of the wind?
How it rages, but still feels so very soft on your skin
Do I not live in the memory of each cusp?
Do your atoms not bear the mark on my touch?
When I am gone, do not bring flowers to my grave
I am so much more than what that mound represents
My love cannot be a sepulcher, no matter how lovely it be
I am alive, in each day that you see
Can you not feel me in the first light of dawn?
How the sun burns, yet the rays embrace you so very soft
Do I not live in each smile that adorns your face?
Does your being not bear the mark of my flame?