For those who are out walking
one fine day and see a ladder
made of blue on the blue sky,
the rungs so clear they blend,
do you climb it?

For those stuck in a small town
the day the circus leaves,
the day the bookmobile shuts up,
do you meet someone who has stayed still
for decades, and, as evidenced
by their words, has just let
their mind die? If so,
how does that affect you?

Is it possible for hope to exist?
Are we all left alone as years pass?
Does yearning end? Perhaps
the best things live in the mind
and we are our own company.