Reflections: One

It is afternoon, bright, warm
and I am ceramic,
chipped on edges, stained
and full up with questions and doubt,
brewed in waters,
dissolving hope
yet resting.

I once belonged to my Father -
gone now, ten years and back
to soil so gentle,
under weeds growing tall
that speak the word, “return”
expending themselves
for the season they exist within -
thus, I have no need for
beliefs other than
my surroundings yet

here resting I am startled
by the sound of running feet,
not knowing who they belong to or
which they go -
no
it was a race
and I was invited.
A marathon
and sitting here
I see now the others running,
distant and shrinking,
thinking -

I need to clean myself up for wine
and turn this opaque shell clear
as another shade of tomorrow,
lest the vines cease to grow
sweeter fruits
from the shades of my past,
within the brambles of
all things passing.