AFTER I DIE, I WANT TO BE

This is from a poetry workshop prompt, not to worry, it's not what you think.

at Parque’ Cultura San Miguel de Allende MX

I want to be sound. Booming Tibetan long horns 
fly me beyond the Himalayas
back to my Mother’s sloshing womb.  
Clanging Cathedral bells, displacing thoughts of those on the ground. 
I want Hafiz poems, dancing to Lila Downs, and Nina Simone 
at my flame and petal adorned grave.
A chair will face my mirrored headstone, each mourner a turn to sit .  I will ride 
a mossy fairy bed to foreign lands, loved ones' whooshing wings by my side.  I will finally know the answers.  Then, I will be the mockingbird’s song from a bush by a bench where a lonely person sits, a fallen birch blocking a dangerous path, and oranges pregnant with sun. My juice, moments of sweetness on dry tongues.