with me sits a coffee cup.
iced watered coffee dregs - the cup is almost overflowing
with time taking its slow toll for dissolution.
my life lays and my life lies.
as the last breath is taken away, the falsity of lived moments take their rightful places
claiming
that there is truth in dying.
he told me more than once.
he dreams of death - a floating kind of empty existence.
he sees his world in fast motion and he sees himself -
with consciousness is there life?
with consciousness is there death?
is death the unknowing - what is existence?
i fear to leave again
that in leaving i can never return.
there is an overflowing.
there is also - in dreaming -
an over-flowering.
