“Fruit Cemetery”

I love it when
a thought comes through
and passes right by
like the wind

those are the thoughts
I take captive
blowing each away
before it takes root

but not all the time

some thoughts
I make a place for
setting them at a table to feast
on the fruits of my spirit

nibbling at the joy
the love
the patience
and more

not even noticing the plates
until they’re empty
feeling an absence

of course
none of that’s real
nothing can be taken
only buried

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