Dim embers at dusk

It only takes a little dreaming to feel my cells slowly dying dying, scattering into translucent petals and being cast away by the wind. In the evening breeze, I am not solid. The edges of my form disintegrate and my dust follows some unknown pull, away, away from me. Am I fire, and my death smoke? Will my waning life blow smoke across a starry sky? Will someone see the trace of me after I am gone?