Through haphazard openings
I penetrated you,
stimulating you.
I pooled,
settling in a fallen leaf
deep on the forest floor.
You do not seek me anymore,
though cloud-filtered light
makes my evaporating surface shine.
I’m cupped in a hand of nature
that’s overlooked
and decomposing,
like me.
My existence will be short-lived,
purpose incomprehensible,
as I fuse to your debris.
Tracy Ahrens lives in Illinois and has been a journalist/writer for over 30 years. She has published eight books, including two non-fiction works, four children’s books and two books of poetry. As of 2023 she had earned 105 writing awards. See her website at www.tracyahrens.weebly.com.
