Forgotten Backyards, Coffee Beans and Shapeshiting Clouds

Crescent moon is hung over
the inert winter sky. It sends
reminders of your existence. Once,
you existed in every sky, every world
and every corner of my universe.
Now, I just find traces of you, here
and there, scattered. In holiday cards,
social media reminders, funny-named
folders in old computers, chat history,
and parting gifts. The expensive coffee
beans you gave me on the last day
we met, lies scattered in my backyard.
Weeds have started growing there and
now I can differentiate between worn-down
pebbles and weather marred coffee beans.
Think of things I have stopped
caring about; coffee; coffee beans; the
backyard; this home; that home;
your existence; my existence.
So why not come back, some rainy
day, black skies and heavy clouds.
Why not tiptoe in my world, from the
back gate and on to the backyard.
Shapeshifting into a cloud and
pouring some of yourself over the
untouched coffee beans. Maybe
saplings will pop out of them,
uprooting the weeds. I’d wait by
the window, overlooking the backyard.
Maybe the saplings will carry your
fragrance. I’d step out and engulf
it all, arms wide open, hope rising,
clouds pouring, tables turning.
Drop by drop, step by step, sapling
by sapling, just come back to my
life. For you to rejuvenate in my universe
and for me to remind myself of my
existence, we could start with
collecting the coffee beans from my backyard.

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