When we fall,
We are not raindrops,
We are stardust.
The puddles we make destroy the ground and God does not hear the sound of our bones crashing.
I knocked on your door for hours,
I knew something was wrong.
God was standing in the doorway,
But you,
you were not.
A week ago I watched men in black suits lower your coffin.
Still I’ve been calling for days.
The phone rings and rings.
But no angels have answered.
I try to imagine that you are still here in a galaxy where words like
Weakness,
Pain,
cancer,
Don’t exist.  
I remember your helpless eyes,
Silently screaming,
Reaching into the bone white light.
Above your hospital bed as if you could escape into it.
But that’s not what dying is like.
I knew you’d never get a chance to say goodbye.
That when the worst winds came roaring by angry and cold,
You would just grow old
And die.