When I died, there were stars.
As the blinding fury leaves my eyes,
I can blink them open and watch.
The creek marches sluggishly forward,
And my body is there, below.
Immediately, I regret it.

I will watch my father scream,
My mother cry, my brother hear the news,
And wonder why.
Years will pass, and her next tears
Are at my brother’s wedding,
Which I will watch, but not attend.
I will never meet my nephews or niece.
When my parents join me later on,
They will ask me why and why and why.
That night, it will rain.

I will reach for the family that I never knew,
And never knew me,
Whisper in my niece’s ear
All the things she needs to hear
From someone who has been there before
And followed through.
Even further down the line,
My brother will join us in his old age,
But he will look exactly the same
As last I saw him.
He will ask me why and why and why,
And the only answer I will think to give
Is silence.
Silence and rain.

All I can do now is wait for morning,
For them to find me,
And hope that they will forgive me
When next we meet.

The night is crisp and clear,
But in the morning,
There will be rain.