Outside my window on the first floor,

I hear a familiar thud,

another,

then another.

Trash bags,

of meager treasures

tossed

over

the

railing

from the 7th floor

of a city high rise,

by the cleanup crew.

A bag tears and

a few of its contents scatter about...

an unfinished book, Page 9 marked,

Two unopened letters,

and a few stacked bills, 

rubber-banded together

by the postal carrier 

from yesterday's mail-drop,

timing the exit of

a soul's transition

from

the

world.

bjd