Life it seems 
becomes a series 
of separate pictures 
be it album 
or phone or 
mind just simple 
quiet clicks looped
together with song
no melodies though 
just the beat
of the heart 
as it breaks 

How does full
become less where
does more go
to be least 
is it honesty
that whittles away 
dreams or is 
time and age 
hope once was
this very thing 

Tis quiet 
here now 
and cold 
though the 
sun like 
a doting 
governess chases 
the chill
with the 
promise of 
warm sweaters 
of dawn

And like 
every other 
jarring thing
this too
will pass 
be swept
or kicked 
or put
behind something 
or someone 
the past
has plenty 
of room 
for the 
presents forgotten 
and gotten 
used to’s

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