Stardust Meadow

Death can be a cloak of hard and heavy lead. It can accumulate the Big Deaths, and become the pain you trudge with,  weighing on your spine, crumpling your legs and twisting your ankles- and the hardest part is that it is invisible Death can be a cloak of quills- the Little Deaths. It can poke and prickle and make thousands of tiny piercing wounds over your whole body- and the hardest part is the invisibility Death can feel like a cloak of the sweetest baby’s breath nestled into your neck with tiny dreaming eyelids fluttering and you just want to hold it close  and never move in fear that you will remember the impermanence The Cloak of Death can look like a dare devil. It can look haughty, indifferent, miserable, miserly, aggressive, criminal… it can look like rigor mortis in the form of an over-priced garment or a car that the owner cannot afford Death’s cloak can smell like decaying hopes, untilled fertile fields and like too many out- breaths trapped in a stagnant