Alone at Bottom

It’s expected you know,
at bottom,
when all is stripped away -
I expect it,
I accept it,
I am all alone.

In the cold hours of the night,
after all the voices of the day,
it’s just my shadow and I,
created company by candle light.

I don’t dwell on it often,
don’t fret and try for change,
just a fact of life,
like the sun in blazing day,
and the moon’s whispered glow at night.

In the days and months and years
companions go in and out of focus,
not unnoticed or without gratitude,
it’s just as it goes.

Layered underneath
the filled and empty spaces
is the knowledge, assumed belief,
the thrum of always alone.

It’s expected,
it’s accepted,
that I am always at bottom,
alone.