The Sower

And to think I'll no longer be in it
passing among the trees.  The water
will still be here.  The grass
will grow and grow.  The trees
will shatter a million more times,
along with the flowers, and reemerge
greener and heartier than before.
But I will continue to ache,
to grow wrinkles, to writhe my way
out of existence.  The seasons
will persist, but I only have
one season, a season soon to ebb
among the rain clouds.  But what haste
I once made, rushing here and there,
thinking my world was on fire.
But there was never any smoke,
no flames.  The only fire
was the one inside my head,
and that fire has been extinguished.
My flesh no longer feels singed.
This brick path remains pristine
as the rain clouds deliver
water, darkness, rumbling
from far off.  I become the thunder,
learn to swim walking straight.

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