The water drains a rusted drain swallows the light

The water drains, a rusted drain swallows the light,

bubbles slip away, taking silence from sight.

A tub sits empty, a cradle for dreams,

echoes of warmth wrapped in forgotten themes.

I think of summer evenings, the steam in the air,

soaking in stillness, no weight, no despair.

Each ripple, a thought, a memory caught,

now just a slick sheen of all that I sought.

Like whispers that vanish, like warmth in the cold,

my solitude lingers, a story untold.