Just look at your calendar
two weeks after your death
all these marks on the paper
lead to the next blank page.
A kitchen table, an empty chair,
whispers crowd the silence,
tasks divided, then forgotten,
visions carefully noted and filed away.
A pot of soup simmers
on an ancient stove
a bubble rises, breaks the surface
changes color -- bursts and slips back.
Being separate, being important
are fading thoughts
like a fleeting flavor in the broth.
a drop falls from the spoon
leaving a spot on the page.
