One day, I suppose,
I will look down into the dust pile
and not see
one of the inexhaustible pieces of tiny Lego
that find their way into the bathtub drain,
the carpet pile,
One day the cloying voices of cartoon animals
will no longer emanate from the flickering screen
I fret has become a false idol.
and tiny mountains of sand
will not pour from shoes
abandoned by the door.
If ever they are not here.
They are still here.
I should hope the signs of their presence
will linger long
after they have left their mother love
for the love of someone/something/someplace