30 - Something will stay.
joneworlds@mailbox.org

That ripped micro chip,
a put down Peterbilt
that the red rust must turn.
A sound in the slimy playground
where the swings snapped off
some springs ago.
But, still something.

And that pipe
under you, under me,
under then, under now,
under later,
may always be.
And this also, is something.

When the sun groans up
again in the morning,
says to the sprout
to tell us that
maybe we can still
bring it all back again,
and dry all this off.
But it won't say 
when again it will be warm.

But maybe not.
Some somethings will stay
after we go away.
And they are from us
but not of us.
Is that all it came to?
Maybe just as well.