Filtering Through

I had friends once they are all gathering dust now in empty rooms. I had a mother I keep thinking about her now, now that I realize I never really knew her. A poet is a filter, a sieve for all the gone astray parts of a life, a dissection room for wayward realities. It would have been nice to have loved more hated more, or had been less than I am. Tomorrow is doggy paddling, eventually the current will bring it ashore; eventually the night will steal us all away.