Oh to be the consciousness
Of a shluffed  off skin cell,
Burrowing in the ground
To be used centuries later.

To be that fallen strand of hair
That blew off with the wind--
Now part of of an animal's lair.

To be everywhere at once,
But only in one place.

I am star dust,
A bit of a star long dead
And I do not even know its name.
Is there a record of its place in the universe?
Does anyone know the effect of its gravity
        forming a solar system that too has vanished?

What happened to the consciousness of that star,
Of other beings--

How many bits of souls went into making me?