Empty Boxes

The conversation wanders on,
deftly finding its way from topic to topic.
A rare Freedom lets soul touch soul,
heart touch heart.
It is precious, a cup to savor
every sweet drop.
A time to linger that is short:
this flavorful cup shared in the
Sacred Halls of Memory, of Currently, of Hope
will run out soon
and will be gone,
as I will, soon.

Empty boxes call me:
wanting to be filled,
wanting to be taken,
wanting to be hauled,
wanting to fly down open, sunlit roads
to a fresh home, a new home,
a new reality.

The cup is not empty,
we tease out every drop
knowing that today is precious,
this time is precious,
Now is precious,
and will only stay while we hold it.

The boxes say: "Soon."
The cup says: "Now."