I will be forgotten.
Tonight is practice,
for in this darkness,
vanity has no supply.
I slip down
and dissolve,
forgetting
in mind, remembering
in some other way
like how a flower knows
when to close its bloom,
and how fallen, uneaten fruit
understand stillness.
Here, I find faith
to be simple, secrets
deliver hope, amidst
this vastness,
amidst our anonymity,
somehow, I know you.
From Southern California, Jacqueline Cleaveland works as a staff writer for a local university.
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