Imagine that when you passed on, you lost your sense of body and became a nebulous cloud that get gently swept over the sky so you could look down on everything. Yes I know clouds are raindrops but it would make a good poem where a missed relative is always hanging in the sky looking down, even in blue skies - maybe it could be a kid who has decided a cloud is his grandad. I like that. If i can write it, I must dedicate it to Grandad.