We live in gradients,
phase shifts.
Boiling,
bubbles one at a time
on the rise.

Body and mind is a futile question;
we will still be this
and some will be wrong.
Hooray.

Now, I'm steaming,
no longer a water drop
pulling itself together on your cheek.

Posed politely on a hillside
beautifully laid out in my mind.
I'm the fog headed west.
Muscles in corners strung high
-or at least higher than last month.

Gradient overlook
from dead grass to rusty leaves.
I. Can. Leave. Too.