you notice a small boy
sitting kerb-side
blowing soap bubbles
through a hollow circle
one particular bubble
odd shaped and oily
catches your eye
you don't understand why
but you let it
it seems so perfect
not happy, nor sad
not hurried, nor slow
it is what it is
and it knows it
drifting free
unaware of purpose
suddenly it pops
but it doesn't care
because it knows
it was there