Trinity

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I yearn
to be once more
tranquil waters,
between smooth banks,
caressed by the tip
of tender leaves:
before I am poured like water
like ash on the earth
For I
I am less than the foam
that dots the sharp edge
of rocks
as waves collide
and recede
less than a word
uttered
in a gentle breeze:
less than the dust
I walk on,
which settles with no trace
of my imprint:
and I shall seem
to eternity, only
as a bird on the wind,
hovering lingering,
illustrating
a few circles over a lake,
the tip of my wing
barely touching
the water: