tarnish; no less lovely than
the silver where it clings. so, seasoned
with its subtle earth-bitter flavor,
i eat with my fingers
a symphony for breakfast.
i will never be hungry again.

i'll go walking; equilibrium entrained
to the wind's convention, which shifts then settles
through branches - their leaves filter light to mottle and
tarnish the soil.

my feet fall there - too light and
not-quite - a peril in each step,
while gravity forgets
or ignores me.
i trust the earth will remember my tracks,
however floating.
i've seen large, stoic
maps spread thick
with roads and tides and sojourn-rules.
my patterned wrists turned up
for consult; for guidance in battle though
fragile as a turtle's shoulder, fragile as
the backs of aging hands, nimble no longer.
the braid loses a strand,
unravels where each vein returns
to its singular motion - its motive,
the shape of a life.

when i've passed, will my path rise
sad as a memorized prayer
unheard; hands templed toward a star
whose light died thousands of years ago?
pray then, my steps fell graceful -
each a verse for each star wished on,
with all the hope that perhaps they too,
wished back at me -
roadless -
brief as light's path,
a flash meteor,
a trail line leading
not to where;
nowhere.
now here transcending
to where dwells
a sweet swell of poetry
that those far
enough away
might
read.