Set sail upon a silenced space
of many splintered seas, cast-off
stamped cases, spent places, memories,
all shaken inside snow plastic effigies.
Darkness tends to hide itself away
if it is too tired to search the stars.
Containers can only hold so much.
a thought here, story there, a feeling,
regrets, crayon faces from childhood.
There is no deluge, only a plodding ebb.
A shadow could just be a curtain dusting,
some days haunt more than others.
So the urn may need to crack or splinter
into a million pieces to become whole.
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