poeming on a friday
rushing in and out of this backyard life
mosquitoes that won't die, acorns
snapping to the ground. there's overlap
in the seasons, the summer greens
and the autumn red-orange-yellows.
the days keep coming, year after year.
we all know the only escape is death.
but who wants escape? the squirrels
scream loudest when someone steals
their acorn. and so it is with us: capturing
acorns that fall through our hands like dust.