one year

The tables empty.
Fill up again.
Rain in the gutters.
Snow on the sidewalk.
Sunshine on my shoulders.
And this is the way of life,
this is how it goes.
Circling around-
don't ask it to stop.
It won't listen.

Coffee shops at dusk.
Empty white mugs,
Inked up pages.
A give and take,
for something more than sigh.

Peace is called settling.
Love is called unselfish.
Living is called dying.
And we're still here.
We're still around.