Passing

Present feelings, ceasing thoughts,

    will my body live to wrought?

Countless bodies live so old

    brought to silence to unfold.

Reaching down and deep below

    my squalid soul holds on to no.

Deep inviting words of warm

    trail behind in wake too torn.

Falling rain, hiding skies,

    silting ocean ripples kind.

Seething pots of water; hot

    smell of wisdom pleasing plot.