one gets by

it is my bag that sits beside me in buses now and doesn’t make a sound

it asks for my hand sometimes though to keep it from moving around

and i walk with my hands in my pockets my step steady though slow

with only the breeze touching the inside of my elbows

and yet strangely the mist is the only companion i seek

as amongst the pale pink peach blossoms it comes rolling

and i feel at peace with my fractured self held together

as into the white nothingness i go strolling