I leave damp mudprints there where I met the shore.
The dragonflies' dances, the goslings scrammed, and I for now (or 'lo, for once) exhaled. Edges do that.
A turtle somewhere spied me not spying a frog; quick to leap. And splash! My eyes follow my ears. A biped clown, here at a threshold. A stronghold of thrushes. And red-winged blackbirds... briefly visiting tufts and reeds.
When I go, I think it likely no memory of me will remain - no indication, no story, no song - but for there where my callous kissed the muck.
Invert puddlings, concentric whorls. A fish somewhere, like I, determined to visit an edge. Marks with its 'foot'prints, lips breaking the tension, a visit to the start of Sky... now gone.
We each leave our prints. We leave each other's memories, in time.