I dream of not being.
of fading, reduced to gratitude
for all that flowed, floated,
glimmered and shone.
then unbecome.

every day a dream.
every night aware of
daybreak unafraid.
we must all awake into
the othernesses

of belonging.
let the last grain of my person
be lifted on a wind so gentle
it carries; holds with
nothing but care,

and know with the last of
what once was heart, that to
love and thank was all I was
supposed to do.
if so, I did very, very well..