So many words to leave something behind

So few to find something better, somewhere

So many more where we leave nothing, find nothing

The etymology of a ghost of greener grasses

And clover. Honeybee, songbird, lovebug

Kennings of self-love haunt our language 

At a gas station in the middle of nowhere

An old man spits in a bucket of blue wiper fluid

Beside the pump; he catches me staring and laughs:

When's the last time you saw someone use it? 

Do you notice it? The silence that lives on clean cars?

Wherever you're going, will they remember you

Like you remember the honeybees?