The bar of soap
smooth and curved as old driftwood
it is familiar to me.
Precious to me.
All of its shape and all of its use
is my own.
And with each use
it lessens and grows
in my heart.
When it is gone
I will open a drawer
and a new bar will sit
where it sits
and eventually I will forget
I ever loved it
and the whole thing will begin again.