I used to imagine that sentiments would overtake me and
That I would be flush with others in a wash towards the shore.
But I have been more flotsam than jetsam.
I have parted particulate matter on the surface of the sea and
Nearly missed becoming a whale's wayfaring passenger
In a course toward the poles.
I have waited out the equator to become tidal stuff on a global scale.
I will eventually lapse just above the floating plastic island of the Pacific
And feed no one.
I will dry up and pass between the blades of wind turbines on my way to
I will inhabit parasites winging European Starlings before falling
into the Kansas dirt.
And I hope that I transcend the corn of a late summer season there,
Among oral histories of good folks,
Before leaping out through the fingerpads of an honest man,
Laid prospectively on the Civil War journal of his kin.
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