Finding Others

I was to find others,

My charred remains

Were to finance

Charcoal murals.

 

I tried to unbecome,

But was lonely winds,

Angry razors storming

Surprised monks.

 

And then I was daffodils,

Waiting cogent poets,

That my sea finds home,

In gentler hearts.

 

For all the fury of

One overflowing heart,

My hands are still hers:

I have touched nothing.