Sometimes,
The way I like to understand the soul--
When someone goes "home",
And their body fades

It's a great cosmic spigot
Running endless
fresh water into bright buckets
On this waning summer day

When feeble little hands grasp at plastic
And hold the sweetwaters
Close to the chest, bringing them along on journeys to the distant sands
With every step spilling
Tiny pebbled beads
Of that water onto the ground
Gradually shifting the weight
Until comfort holds, unaware
The space between the fingers
And the pan

Eyes glazed with redness, tired

The little one in us falls asleep
As waves lap quietly at the sand
And the mountains rumble inevitably into dust

And the feeling of the earth is lost
And our body, like a rusted telescope mount, unable to stand
Cants
And spills the whole pail
Into the pale
And we leave this place as we began