A sea of thoughts
Drowned  in the ocean
A cruise ship with lifeguard words
Sailed past with the crew

if she could be a tree ag'in
never seen a balsa growin'
don't know about light wood

I am more acquainted
with the hardwood species
and as I speak

There in the woods, a balsa
tree floats off into the atmosphere
so light

To this body
Death does as it should,
Consigns the shell
To the firewood
And sets the spirit free.

Close to the fire
the heat singes me.

I know it's only the prelude
to the fiery furnace
licking my skin with flaming tongues
reducing me to powdered ashes
disappearing and in no time fading
what was me but in an instant
dusts in urns and upon wall
and years after maybe one's
untimely rains of dusty memories.

I am not reading poetry.
I am cupping the words
in my hands, pouring them
over my head, rubbing them
through my skin, into my bones
breathing in
breathing out

becoming a poem