The consequences
of what we create
are unknowable.
We create
for the sake of creating,
we do
for the sake of doing,
and then,
it is sent,
it goes out into the world,
drifting
like a carefully constructed leaf
in the wind.

Will someone catch it?
Will it go straight to the sea,
straight to the blue waves
that will swallow up
the orange and yellow and green?
Or maybe it will drift
to land with the high tide,
and perhaps a little girl
will pluck it
from the ocean foam.
And maybe it will end up
in her collage
of thoughts and dreams
and her memory of changing seasons.

There is just
no way
to tell
what will happen,
so we just let them go.
Just as we
were once let go,
like tears
already dispersing
into the fog
before the song
that provoked them
has come to an end,
like ribbons of stardust
dancing
in the bottomless void.