My life stands up
and walks away
from the park bench
where I remain
sitting the way
my life once sat.
My life heads past
the oak and pond,
past the playground,
past the diamond;
it whistles a tune
I used to know
when I was five
and mostly whole.
My life keeps on
its invisible path
like some raccoon
oblivious to the fact
I won't sit here long
where nothing sat.
