They say, Picture a stream
fine mist of digital water and the dappled
forest canopy–and you can’t picture anything. 

Surely, you’d ignore the pinch
of one thousand twelve digital pebbles
digging into your soft underbelly.

And the sun, hot overhead. You think,
if only I could just blend in
for long enough.

Maybe you’d become that stone, something
as sure and as permeant as air.