a soft exhale the earth beneath me; stirring with a billion forms of life if I died today perhaps I would return as a word on a page or the laughter of a child the iridescent sheen of a Raven's wing the colours of the winds or as a grain of sand drops between here and there through the middle of an hourglass would I know when I opened my eyes and breathed in that fleeting moment if I died or was dreaming?