You can smell it - when it happens,
and it does,
at the trailer park.
You investigate once, because you,
personally have never seen a rotting corpse.

Once, single use death, as when
one tries to use life too hard, too not
easy,
like heros on TV, not
gentle, as with a kitten or a yellow duckling,
held, in your own soft bowl of fingers.

Bubble, floating for a moment longer
than bubbles would if only water were involved,
-- input, use, grow a known, redistill, settle still

bubbles in the commode,
bubbles in the coffee,
bubbles in the hummingbird feeder, bubbles
in my brain, or my soul, sometimes, I wonder
if one is the other, when the brain is dead,
the soul is gone,
must be, wouldn't one assume?

perhaps here is where the spirit lingers,
watching souls lay dead where a bubble of life was.