teacup

 you are a pattern of promises

I know you'd keep

if you ever made them

teacup would rest firmly

in your hand

shunning all fear of shatter

were you ever to pick it up

why the empty hands, my love?

of course we all pass to death

bare-handed

but promises kept

are all we can leave behind

you are alive now. pick up the cup. 

fill it to the top. leave it when you go.