The wind comes.

We stride
ever-valiantly
through life’s harsh tempests.
Yearning,
Grasping,
Pulling bits and pieces,
Broken bottles (paper or plastic?),
Trying to make our lives whole.

What will please us?

Is there anything?
That can make us?
Stop?
Trying?

What will end us?

Jigsaw puzzles.
Pieces lay askew on the coffee table.
Spilt water. Should we clean it up?
Or let it soak into the wood,
let it sink into the ground,
let it become something else
Entirely.

Should we live or should we die?
What is what? Which is which?

What is?
A full?
Glass?

We walk silently through dirty streets.
Smoke rises through the grates.
We ponder.

Slowly,
Calmly,
The wind dies.