THE FLYER

In the rain

ink running

down the page

the message

the meaning

smearing

fading

like a memory

a life, washing

away.

Later, shredded

torn and ravaged

by wind and time.

You are not there

to see it

laid waste

this way.

You are gone

elsewhere

as nature runs it’s

ruinous course.

When you return

what remains is only

a nail in the wood

marking the place

where the flyer had been

along with its veiled

cry for help.