Winding down

I return empty-hearted
a cracked sieve off center in my chest
Because my soul is not some light bulb
buried deep and burning inside me
There are no fuses that can be replaced

I return raw-hearted
exposed to the wind and the sand
I am layers of dead skin slowly peeling away
a bind of coloured thread
eventually to be just an empty spool

But I go open-minded
a pilgrim with no particular progress in mind
Wasting away one day at a time
as bodies often do
but I have still many stars and ships to see
and that is enough for me