We are fragile, fleeting collisions
much like dovewings tripping.

Accellerating intake,
burdening under the endless snows
of apathy.

We don't mean anything, do we?
Incandescent fades,
finger by finger disappearences.
I am the invisible outline of what was
and has been.

Call me wind and rain,
instilled in the atmosphere,
uneffected by the pressures.

I am a corporeal mass
envisioned but never seen.
I am made simply of dew drops
water vaporously mean.