You are so tiny but so large.
Many oceans you carry in your bloodstream.
More than I can ever hope to witness.

Even the tears forming on the very edges
of the pinkness of my eyelids cannot touch them.
And you've always been so gifted. So much so

that knowing you becomes gift in itself. So much so
that even the tears forming on the very edges of the
pinkness, the once grey pinkness of my eyelids

speak now, with rain-drops. Pattering metaphorically
into your heart. I can't even bring myself to read
the whole of your goodbye message before rain-drops
become floods.

Congratulations, you did the one thing that
not a single one of my adolescent girlfriends could ever do:

You turned me into a cloud on the very edge
of turning playgrounds into cemeteries.

And still those will not be oceans, Little Girl.
Even when you say goodbye to me-
I have nothing of my own to wade in as you
drift, drift, drift,
and never sink

in the mad richness of your effervescent soul.

Little Girl, you remind me of how I used to be
and I am not even an old man yet.

You remind me that there's hope in this big, big world,
Little Girl.

And you thought you didn't matter.