I live to take, having left a trace…
…Traces are swept and washed away.
Lifted to the clouds, it falls with rain,
To return and perfect the world.

He left— they took.
The equipment, the remains, and the memory.
They hauled it all away
And did not recall
Where they buried him,
Even.

What I snatched I’ll give to the office,
They’ll appraise it, send the gains back.
A record of the soul, healthy
Or sick,
They’ll enter in the Book of Life.