Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain

Vanishing Vapor

We glimmer for only a short time,
Then fade away like gray haze,
We count on tomorrow though fallow,
As if living were oceans of days.

As convections of thin atmosphere,
Smoke signals in the ether,
Though fallow we count on tomorrow,
And drizzle away in our leisure.

Our lives fade fast like fall's morning mist,
Vapors that form no droplets,
We count on tomorrow though fallow,
When only plumes the ozone forgets.

We see liquid-but life's made of steam,
No velum can hold our air,
Though fallow we count on tomorrow,
Like a rift in the fog of a prayer.