sometimes I leave dead flowers exactly where time choked out their lives artwork? the art of dying follows the art of living some die exactly as they lived, posing proudly missing only their colors others turn fetal returning to the womb the curl before birth the shape of hope bound in faith waiting

worn in the tooth stiff in the joints low on the energy weaker in the sight slower on the walk harder in the hearing if you don’t look back remembering how you were you’ll be just fine if you do your breath will falter and the ghosts will come

lately I can’t stand loud noises, traffic or garish parties of any kind and when I listen to someone, I really prefer hearing one word at a time that’s right, walk don’t run with your words if you want me to follow you, especially if you speak the revealing ones behind your face, under your tongue or already swallowed you may have noticed how honesty loves to chat in the comfortable chairs around a fire