The tears
I shed
for those 
who left
mean nothing 
for ghosts
nor smoke 
nor whisps
know density

When chill hangs
above like netting 
keeping out pests 
a cold morning 
does not invite 
one to rise 
but rather remain 
under the blanket 
and next to 
and in darkness 
play a game 
paper rock scissors 
to seem whom
will have to 
go and start 
opening the house 
whilst the other 
gets to stay 
cozy and warm 

I lake 
my sediment 
still deep
but bubbles 
up slowly 
or when 
stirred by
passing fish 
called memory 
only then 
will it 
disappear forever 

On this day
of giving thanks 
I give thanks 
to you yes 
you who read
for without eyes 
belonging to you 
these same words 
belonging to me 
would mean nothing 
many many thanks 

I’ve found that 
most things are 
of the mind
and of mood
take for instance 
holidays they can 
be spent together 
or all alone 
but it’s not 
the company that 
ensures one’s enjoyment 
for even alone 
glad tidings ring
and songs sing
and meals make 
for lovely holidays