I like to believe
that when someone dies,
their soul explodes among the clouds
like a supernatural supernova.
Smaller pieces have fallen
to find home in the tangible,
and larger pieces
decided to stay among the stars.
They are a part of everything you see.
That blue jay,
a field of daisies that dance
with the wandering wind.
Burning brightly in constellations
comprised of diamond dust and fire.
A coffee bean,
The granite collected for someone else’s
Saturn’s atmosphere and its many rings.
A lemon juice infused sugar pop
that drips sparingly down a little girl’s elbow.
It leaves her lips sticky as they curve up
into a grin.