The indifference of rain
cares for me, cares for you
in equal measure of not-at-all.

Blow-me-down winds or
today's warm caress explore
what they can of me, of you

as early evening star spangles
include a dominion of squirrel
as easily as a 'tis of thee.

Pulp, both deciduous and pine,
has been pressed into service
of words:  lordly, kingly, me

a forest of letterings we carefully
pin before our names, or after
our us, our we, our me

while waiting to be burnt
as one by fire, drowned,
dried, blown away.  Salt.