I am a god mission.
I want to own the night and the dawn and the coyote hours.
The purple sky along the black horizon.
The orange strip above that later.

I am the bending, swaying tree when all others stiffen.
I fall silent when the bark of reality becomes common story and passed-around dilemma.

I am the man from the utility company.
I balance on the wires of the power grid, dancing energy to the far ends of the earth.

I call you by name, but I don’t know who you are.
Might as well be Marcus Welby. Absurdity.

I am more the rain than the sprouts pushing up, begging for structure.
I am falling and feeding the underneath.
I am going to the ocean.

There’s no time for me to think about time.
I take my chances and happily wait millennia for a megalith pyramid to build up around me.
I’ll be as unknown then, painting patterns on walls.
Showing things that were always there.