When I die
All that will be left
Is my name
In some race
Half-way down the list –
Mediocrity –
Although I did not strive for that.

(What your fingers would look like
On the table
Reading my old poetry)

When I die
All that will be left
Is some words
On scraps of some sort
Scattered somewhere –
Ubiquity –
Maybe.  (but) probably not.

(What your fingers would look like
On the table contained in
A delicate niche,
Peacefully attached.

Swans are engaged
In feeding.

All the while
On the water,

Gliding.