When I Am Dust
When I am no longer here,
will sunrays fall and,
unobstructed by me,
still leave a spot
on the ground unlit?
Or shed leaves draw up short,
detour,
though I’m not in their way?
Will foamy water spill
around my lost
footprints in sand?
Or raindrops bounce off
my hunched-over silhouette?
Will fragrant breezes glide
around a hollow shaped like a man
with his face upturned?
Or the sound waves of
music that once made me
glad to be alive
flow around the space where
the open arms of my ears
used to be?
Will my pillow recall the
contours of my head,
refusing to be fluffed?
No, I don’t expect they will.
It would be enough if,
when I am dust,
you put your remembering arms
around my absence.
One more time.
Copyright © Bernard Chan | Year Posted 2019
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