"When death carts me off to the bottomlands, when I begin the long work of rising—
Death, whoever and whatever you are, tallest king of
tall kings, grant me these wishes: unstring my bones;
let me be not one thing but all things, and wondrously
scattered; shake me free from my name. Let the wind, and
the wildflowers, and the catbird never know it. Let
time loosen me like the bead of a flower from its wrappings
of leaves. Let me begin the changes, let me—
Can you imagine a world without certainty?
The wind rises the wind falls.
The gravels of the world,
the stones of the world
are in their proper places.
The vast, writhing
worms of the sea
are in their places.
The white gulls
on the wet rocks
are in their places.
is certainty."

—  from “Gravel” by Mary Oliver  (via awakeinthedream) (via dreaminginthedeepsouth)