every birth
starts a stitch
but not every blanket
warms this world
when death calls us
do we really want others
to worry about
where we’ve gone?
or is our wish that
at least one person
be comforted
by what we left behind
crickets gossip in shadowy corners the moon glows through the clouds the morning starts evil-gray as the past maintains its grip waiting for the present to catch light of a future as the dogs and I re
time steals your hourly balance as often as clouds slip in and out of circulation and since you can’t accumulate or invest minutes or months why underspend days or put away years for some later date?