Every thing I 
once had gone 
funny things those 
I don’t think 
about ergo don’t 
miss not even 
the people attached 
to those things 
or the places 
it’s almost like 
I hadn’t lived 
as though this 
bucket I am 
never held water 
I guess I 
could be pot
or even decoration 
but bucket I
am certainly not 

Sometimes those go
before we’re ready 
but know this 
those that do 
understand your wish
but for them 
their work here
is finished and 
there’s more to 
do for them 
somewhere else away 
and you will 
go there too 
if not now 
then someday soon 

I am now 
left to think 
not really remember 
for most memories 
are but anchors
keeping me in
one specific place 
though the illusion 
of movement there
but just round
and round I
go never moving 
beyond this spot 
but thinking well 
thinking is like 
a kite soaring 
and eventually freed
and to land 
somewhere else entirely 

Do you hear
the crickets call
and see the 
fireflies dance their 
little tails aglow 
blinking like the 
end of your 
cigarette a few 
feet from me 
such is magic 
in the making 
on these the
last summer nights 

Sometimes there is 
nothing to say 
so this morning 
let’s just you 
and I and 
this pot and 
these cups just 
sit here and 
watch in silence 
as both steam
and sun rise