I don't want to be a bird soaring above the trees
But perhaps the egg nestled safely in its nest
I won't be the spider sewing its web
But the fly wound tightly in its grasp
Don't ask me to be a tree slowly reaching to touch the sky
But suggest I be a patch of moss
Tucked away in the trunks crevice
I wouldn't want to be the ocean
Vast and unfathomably deep
But a single wave that rises and falls, and retreats back into the sea
Someday, though, I might be the bird
I will spread my wings and dive into valleys
I will point my beak to the sky and rise above grey clouds
And when I die
My ashes will spread
It will blow past the trees branches that I never was and never will be
It will settle in the web of the spider
And as she moves to wind up her newest catch,
Some of my ashes will fall
They will be carried on the wind's current
When it stops it will touch water
And sink into the sea