full

the last of the glass, tips
falls

with not enough in
to spill.

I'd be more than willing to pick it up,
swing my hand over and in
to save a crash -
but so fun after all of this
and that,
to just watch.
Watch it roll. Hear the wide, hollow sound
of glass, singing in its empty belly
a song of wood.

This high table where we both once sat and shared exactly this

I am full
of very good wine, and finally
empty
of you.