Now I,

the most passive of verbs, like 

autumn decaying my most decorated gourds

pushed under freezing streams down on slabs of slate, 

rubbing out my inner colors the same as the dirt

that birthed me in the imaginary year of pre-zodiacs,

when unknown forces decided to leave me unnamed.



Then I,

the most active of verbs, like 

forging my own self in a blazing fire consuming liquid glass,

I am the red hot ionic bonds of etherial chemistry,

expanding the worlds within my ribcage beyond the limits,

I consume my griefs and gestate my insomnias,

transform my elements trembling at their seams.



Until I,

the most absent of verbs, like

forgetting then forgotten then erased into immaterial, 

I return to my birthstones traced to inception,

glowing in the smolders left in primordial embers,

shattered then scattered into the never-ending cosmos, 

I fade into the early morning glow in the suns not yet seen.