So many ghosts there.
All the years feathering out nests–
new towels, sheets, kitchen gadgets.
Forever drawn to the new and shiny,
all the years of burying presents,
ever hopeful, dutiful, trying to please.

And now more buying lists.
Will this Samsara never end?
What of lasting value have we kept?
We’re like birds constantly pecking.
What will fill us up?