Facing the Stars

I see the stars
and feel I don’t exist,

that my grief is the only 
thing that has meaning.
 
The grief that welcomes
 my own eulogy,
   
reading my headstone
in the decaying light,

reminding me that I 
am mortal and must die,

dissolve to indistinguishable 
dust and dirt, a man, an, a.

The glowing cheeks of my parents
just another flaw among flaws,
  
me a broken stone among a broken
house made of broken stones.

I know suns die every day and are 
mourn no more than a falling leaf.

Are flies the only things that will
enjoy supping on my remains?

Yet, I still look up at the night stars 
and wonder if they were made 

to house all my/our dreams,
the eternity of all hours.

Will they expand beyond 
these shadows or just maybe,

I still don’t exist and  am just 
a scream that’s still asleep? 

The selling of a condo where a dear friend once lived brings closure and thoughts on my own grief and mortality.I,,