Missing

When the infinitesimal motes of dust that make up my being
Dissolve into the matter that makes up the universe
Will saline flow from your eyes in solidarity
For the time lost to us?
I know the scattered motes will mourn their disconnection
Perhaps the lamentation you speak of Will vibrate at such a frequency
That they will draw the discorporate motes together
And that will be much better 
Time spent mourning what could have been