study finger prints,
raw meats, strange sounds,
humans on the sidewalk,
cracks in the faces that
we're given, slow moving
birds saying their goodbyes

take all of these particles
of life, of love, of whatever
it is we're put here to do

take them and put them
somewhere safe
because one day either
we'll be gone, or they will,
and the missing will go on
infinitely, it will go on

it will resonate off of
old walls that used to
house our twin sized beds
on dusty wood floors,
then deep into canyons
out west that look like sand
castles shoveled by tiny hands
at race point beach on the
fourth of july,
then through metros
that rush all day but never
really end up anywhere

they will brush by those
who feel the sudden change
in the air around them,
like a hand touching their shoulder,
or the wind spewing
from their lungs a little
too quickly

they will sit and wonder,
and they will begin to study
the sand in their shoes,
moonlight through branches,
children's books, the way
bricks are laid, how a face
can crumple or illuminate
at a moments notice

they will take these pieces
and tuck them away, just
as the impending infinite
missing closes in