powder

how long is

long

how long is

is

how long is

how

how long is

now

when separated from you

with the closest memories

of watching you fold over like a sunflower

in the shade that comes

but not before

the fall

of two lovers caught in the cooing

of bees who mean something to the world

on a daily basis

though it all doesn’t

last too long

*

it is not

that i am afraid of Death

rather i am pained

by the fear of a small dying

found in every day

like a coffee not drunk

like a tree ringing hollow

in a forgetful feint of its age

like a pocket that is slowly escaping

its pants

only to be overturned into the

mirrored eyes of a beggars

hopeful for something

besides the thrown up insides

of emptiness

that are filled with too much

stuff to be named

until it is there in single stray piece of hair

that asks if the man is bald or not

there in the echoed footsteps of snow

that suddenly stop

where you wonder if

he turned around

was he lifted

where did he go

to find what it is

that has gone

you move forward

but the path is harder

slower

now

even if the snow

is fresh