When they put the body into the earth
I will not be there; what they put into the earth
will not be me but will be a remnant, discarded,
left behind.

The body will be divided up
after all– the eyes and the heart split out
and used elsewhere; they may even cremate
the remains and leave them behind, although
no one of the watchers that day will care enough
for the ashes to sift through and see me
in the grey-white pile.

I wiIl be present, though —
will watch from six feet above, hovering;
a dragonfly or darning needle not looking
for me in there but instead will look far and away
toward the random weeds: toward
the ragweed, making you sneeze as I did;
toward the poison ivy to which I was immune;
toward the sunset which left me daily feeling
elated as much as it did incompetent.

When the well-dressed men put the body into the earth
they will feel me as no more than a scant breeze
affecting them for an instant and then it’s on
to the next one — and as for my dragonfly
and darning needle, they won’t pay them
more than the slightest mind. Meanwhile,
the scraggly wildflowers
will bloom and go to seed and bloom,
again and again; think, then, of me.