Witness

You are still
a vessel of memories
for me you know.
This is what I miss the most -
filling your pot as mine
and dipping in now and then
to taste a morsel.

I've placed you crudely among others of your ilk,
my witnesses,
another abandoned craft in the back field
home to spiders and rabbits and an occasional snake.
I pass you daily with my dogs,
master myself now,
and wonder if you are still
water worthy
or well.

And I wonder too
if your knife was sharp
when you carved a place
to put me.

I came across a folder of my old poems, many of which I had completely forgotten. This is one of those. I'm no longer sure who I wrote it for or about. Thank you for reading it.