The Waste Basket

Little vacuole, little
Soul, homely bardo, wicker,
Light wire, pre-fab plastic,

Look how well you do your job,
How humble you remain, yet
Charming. The waste isn’t yours.

You accept it—crumpled notes,
Used tissues, the trivial,
The gross. Then you tip over,

And you’re light, and you’re open
To whatever’s next, gesture
Of empty non-emptiness.