Queen Nefatari's Tomb

When our bones are lowered      
six feet, or burnt
to fill an ornamental urn      
I'd like to think        
no matter how careful a mortician        
particles of us escape
Earth as they did life        
inhaled into an orbit of light        
by the vast Universe        
to float weightless        
of worry
unless pulled back    
       
Like the fine particles      
of pristine stars        
on the ceiling, still intact      
in Queen Nefatari's tomb      
reborn from the grave      
into galaxies of eyes      
and lungs      
after three millennium