It’s not that 
it’s just why
that it was
of the how
and where we
both know now 
but the why
the gnawing humidity 
infused question lingers 
long after like 
a soups aroma
calls family to 
dinner from all 
corners of house 
the why this 
and why that
little bits found
at bowls bottom 
haunting of taste 

The only 
answer that
you’ll find 
is the
one that’s 
within you
and if
it’s not 
then there
really isn’t 
a question 

It’s always 
been the
high notes
I hear
the twinkling 
I imagine 
snowflakes sound 
and stars
also make 
and eyes 
that catch 
only mine
do say

In this now
I am grateful 
I have little 
less than me
but this that
I do makes 
all the rest 
seem oddly unnecessary 
when one has 
one no longer 
needs the other 

Funny how 
the mountains 
this morning 
resemble candy 
strawberry peaks
chocolate timber 
vanilla foothills 
after the 
snow fell 
all wrapped 
in the 
paper clouds