sunset
warm light

fallen to the ground
tiny seeds
strewn around

a bent stick
dead leaf
color of the sun

hints of soft
green

it is natural
to flow and stick
in places that bind
as a reminder
movement needs shape
to distinctly interact
whether accepted
   or not
is a measurement
indistinguishable
from the existence

the way out
or
to be free

rarely is

what you think
or
what you want

rather

letting go
or
allowing

what is
to
be you

dishes are done
and the robots
   cleaned
from cleaning

in the dim light
where drowses meet
with memories and
   plans
for what may be

talk of the things
people talk about
   happening
automatic as morning
shuffles the deck
after eyes close

and the dreams
bridge between
all that once was
tethered loosely
   next to day