I, the Vessel

My soul is a shiftless creature
tanning its skin on my lawn.

It dreams of cloud kingdoms
and the succession of royalty-

wonders what name it would take
 if it ascended to power.

My soul comes home
when I have gone to bed.

It doesn't say much
when it comes home late.

It likes to leave early in the morning
before I have gotten out of bed.

I have told it to look for a job
but it scoffs at the idea.

A Soul? With a job?
Such a ludicrous thought.

We love each other
but can often be at odds.

When I walk through the forest,
light streaking between branches,

we marvel at our fortune,
the privilege of being.