Tumbling

Today has been a day
of continuous tumbling
down a never-ending hill
while my poor body collects
every rich thing the grass offers

I am no artist
and yet I have the colors of the world
dripping off of my hands

I am not mud
and yet all that touches me
leaves its curious shape on my flesh

I am no crowd.
I stand alone
waiting for a single shadow
that will move
 in sync with my rhythm

I am no angel
and yet eternity
dances a slow waltz with me--
stepping on my toes
each time a soul is promised forever

I am no cloud
still sometimes
on a good day,
I feel close to heaven

I am not anyone.
I am somebody.
And sometimes
just a passing thought--
nobody worth mentioning out loud.
However, there is that solemn silence
of which I am most proud.