18 SEP 2011 by ideonexus
"Look for Me Under Your Bootsoles"
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
Walt Whitman comments on his demise.