As I lay down in the soaked grass,
The mud squishing into every crevice and nook,
I imagine myself melting.

Like leftover snow in early spring,
When the first showers come and erase the remains of winter.

I am the winter.
The rain dissolves me with every drop,
Until I am nothing but an element
Absorbed by the earth.

And the world forgets I was ever here...

Poetry is
The dance that words make
Without the need
For music.

She saw me again, looked my way,
But I wasn't in her eyes.
Yet, I see her everywhere,
Even when she's not there.
How would you handle this.
What does one call this.
If you were sitting as I,
Looking through the throng
Of family and others,
Sitting through the ceremony,
You too would feel the entropy
Of vines tightening on your tongue,
Like ice cream melting in your bowl.
She looked again, I see,
But didn't quite see me.
I will steal away. Steal away.