The Nirvana for people in leaf life rafts in creeks
up to their ankles.

Today if only for the bird mingling morning 
i remembered with my feet
the distinct possibility of falling into 
everything.
become quiet with me like the death of gnats 
and butterflies-- whose wings we loose
between the forests of grass.
i remembered that if i were to determine
to relinquish my name and all the blankets
and old woven bracelets and all the
receipts in my purse like scrolls--
saving them like they might someday have
a message for someone other than myself--
maybe God writes us prophecies in white
ink between .99 and vanilla pudding
i have used bracelets and pudding
to try to pry myself from world of soil 
who calls me only each time my foot
touches the lawn-- and the earth has
never moved for my feet-- only bent 
her elbow to giggle at how
i thought i was a giant to
a forest-- and i think i will die like
a gnat and you don't need to give 
my wings a grave stone-- i want to say
goodbye like summer-- gone so long
but still in our heels-- die like fireflies
-- like blown out candles at the end of adoration.
This morning i don't need a name--
the birds would never call me 'Sarah'
anyway-- and my gnat wings look like
everyone else's.
i'd like to be nothing but soil
i'd like to be quiet like creeks--
hum to myself from the edge of
a leaf boat life raft--
bare feet in the water.