Control

How can terminus be known

when nothing’s left behind?

An empty box of matches

is all there is to find.

A shred of glass, some dental floss,

a knotted length of string,

a brown and white barred feather

from a songbird’s tattered wing.

 

Seek these things and you might find

amid the swirls of dust,

a fragment of the beauty left

in loneliness to rust.

Done