Not like an oak
with its great arms
scattering acorns on the ground
not all of me at once
but like thin young shoots
making cautious green approaches
by the fence

and not ambitious
as the headlights of a train
shining on steel lines
more like a breeze
almost without sound
playful among grasses
in fine rain
tapping at the window

and afterwards to leave like smoke
and you will hardly know
that I was here

© Paula McKay