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How will it be

to lie in the sky

without roof or door

without this shared old wooden floor?

I imagine you

will find a cat, or two or four,

a comfortable couch

a long lost pipe

and several friends.

Maybe God will find you

in the final ends

in the sky

without a roof to fix

or old front door that always sticks.

Without the creaky wooden floor of you,

what will I do?

Oh, my love, what will these tired arms do,

without you, without you?

My body knows

someday I'll fly, with or without feathers,

ashes to ashes, to be by your side.

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