the parade of dew

i am gone

though i have only just arrived

at the bar where people come

to go to where i went

without much thought besides

for the hope of being led deeper

into this like

an anchor that doesn’t hit the bottom

or a boat that does

*

why do we do

when all that can be done

is the undoing of us

from having did

and asking why

and finding no answer

except for the one

we created by being done

finished

complete

but asking for more

*

i think all the poetry

is out of me now

like

a fixed faucet

or

dew in the morning

that leaves in the afternoon

but not before drowning

baby grasshoppers

that haven’t learned how

to make the night musical

for the parade of dew