When we are gone
our lives will continue without us
– or so we believe and,
at times, we have tried to imagine
the gaps we will leave being filled
with the brilliance of others:
someone else gathering plums
from this tree in the garden,
someone else thinking this thought
in a room filled with stars
and coming to no conclusion
other than this –
this bungled joy, this inarticulate
conviction that the future cannot come
without the grace
of setting things aside,
of giving up
the phantom of a soul
that only seemed to be
while it was passing.
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