Snowflakes

Put all I am into a box—
And what would I have?

          Confusion.

Groping around, as if I were blind.
Arms prostrate, fingers able but in search
Of some elusive beast.

          Or a hidden treasure.

Images, painted in my mind of daffodils,
Delicately dancing out of a Wordsworth poem.
But, if I am blind,

          How vast is the daffodil?

As tires spin around the pavement—
Leaving their stationary mark;
I spin. With impunity, leaving my mark.

          Going nowhere.

A glance resounds like the thunder, or church bells.
Do I need someone, to define who I am?
Would they be better equipped—

          More capable?

Or is my definition in who they are?
To melt myself away,
Like snowflakes

          In a childhood memory.