so many sounds left
unsaid, passing
ground we might
have made common, those
throwaway thoughts,
little wildflower patches
in our dirt bed brains

these days words won't
grow, roots won't take
me far away,
you find
me a wisp
on the wind off
to rockier nouns

I always meant to be a petal
attached and mushy,
gripping stem and
bearing yield instead
I am caught in air currents
and bird beaks
whistling where I go