Tarry here a tad
under a sky lavender and blue.
Sit with me, says the day.
I aim not to know you -

No, I am here to be known.
Leave your presupposed prison. Leave your
self. All this - my current clothes
are not yours
to pick and pocket. You own
neither the luster of the sky, the glory of the noon,
nor your very skin, for it is
crumbling paper you reside in.

So come, and linger longer with me.
For you will be lifted away soon
on the swells of an evening breeze
into all your other occupancies.
And I will go and change into silken robes
of dusk and float on and
make myself heard, known.