Why do I Talk? ...

Only to enter in.

Only to be remembered.

This was never my game to win,

Never my stance to sell.

My flag, my dying ember,

(comes back in the wind,

strong as it is thin,

more alive than even I could tell)

Lives only a moment

In a rush of fast and faint

Circled swings – a fleeting comment

That I meant as I thought

And forgot as I said: paint

Stiffens this flag, dries

Too fast in the skies

Where pictures brag the earth they forget,

Lost in waving – even

While I'm reading your next face;

Watching your slow in-breath leaven;

Knowing, now, you're painting

A flag I might embrace

(where it falls, dying,

from your lips), lying

on the earth (stirred from a winded fainting).