Of Souls and Things

Been thinking a little about Death and its aftermath. I think it's a thing we all think about, sometimes.This one's in verse, my higgledy-piggledy, upside down thoughts on friend Death and her beyond.

If souls don't shift
Or jump;
If there's no Reincarnation
Or Transmigration
Or those Weiss Lives:
I'd like to feed flowers, then.

Plant over me some purple irises,
Peeking through their yolk-gold hearts,
I'd drink sunshine every morn
And bask moonshine every eve.

And if someone should plant above me a jasmine,
I think I'd like to waft
In unseen perfume strings,
Scenting smoky summer evenings
And drawing close
Large dark moths
And small dark ants.

And if you loved me
(Even a tiny bit):
Perhaps
you'd be nice
And plant me over me a few fuschias:
Deliciously pinked
I'd rollick with the raindrops,
Swinging gently
in gusts
Of rain-wet breeze.

And if you strew me on water
(Which I know you'd most likely do.....)
I'd prefer the Ganga;
Prefer her young
As she skips down
Old hills
That are gray first,
Then green.
And like the Little Mermaid
I'd float-
White foam fleck
On her gem green lap.

But to tell you the truth,
I'd still keep hoping,
That Souls jumped
And shifted;
That they tap-danced
And hop-scotched
From being to being.
It'd be thrilling then,
Wouldn't it,
To be so many different things:
A healer now,
A poet before.
A dancer, sometime;
A soldier -
Maybe tomorrow.
A hummingbird...
A beetle!
An Arctic fox...
A Thar camel!
And come to think of it
Why not
The great blue whale?