There’s a way to be,
only the dead can truly tell you how it is,
but I have an idea from the linger of longing that hovers,
it’s to float about,
bearing no burden on no thing,
leaving an imprint on everything.
How heavy is a dream where you see yourself,
hovering and looking down on yourself,
soul travelling in a room,
strangely weightless in that sleep state,
and gravity stricken in wake.