Letters make words 
and words poems
and poems books 
and books a
life just as
fingers make a
hand and lips 
a mouth and 
skin a body 
and this then 
makes us too

And with each
passing day before 
gets farther away
just like exits
on a highway 
when approaching one 
I would’ve wondered 
just what if
but now behind 
me matters little 
onto somewhere else 
maybe to stay 

It comes 
a time 
that when 
one does
and then 
it’s counting 
just what 
and not 
and it’s 
decided too
to either 
keep doing 
or stop 
and this 
goes for 
all things 

As a child 
I had stuffed 
animals and we
went on adventures 
too many to
count and recall 
and it wasn’t 
until much later 
did I realize 
that the journeys 
were never with
another only me
and that for 
many years I 
was my very 
own best friend 

You can find 
what you’re looking 
for so long 
as the what
is you and
not the who