Do you see my love
For a delicate woman
Like you see the rivers rush?
Doesn’t any of it matter
Like the shaking of the trees
Which leads
To the shaking of the leaves?
Are we just walking here
Or do our decisions matter
For the greater good of grabbing
Something and holding on?
When do we get to
Where we are going
Or when do we
Give up and go?
I will never know
Because even when my bones decompose
They will turn into stone and grow trees
That are happily affected by the breeze.