What Happens

You’re moving toward or away from,

sailboat rocking softly, no wind,

sails luffing. The dinner bell too far away

to hear, too far to let them know

you don’t know how long.

You have so much to say, still,

but of course they’ll learn it themselves.

Let sorrow sit down at the table,

let that good meal be mixed with tears.

What are they crying for?

They have words for it, and they use them.

More poetry. This is what happens

and has nothing to do with you.