How could it be so beautiful that it made you cry, he wondered? How could it be so painful it made you wish you had never existed? Why was there so much joy mixed with so much sorrow?

Perhaps it was a glimpse of eternity that had kept him alive. Or maybe the billions of stars hiding out there beyond the blackness above his head.

Regardless, he was alive.

e

.


worry about the color of the words some other day
worry about the spacing and the typography then
not now
think about the shadow of trees across the snow
about the chill that seeps into the ground
and freezes everything
wonder about the feeling of falling
the sheer sadness of death and goodbye
wake up and wipe the tears away
worry about the passing of time
in its own due time
now is just a precipice
dance along its edge
one foot in front of the other
worry
about that

so many birds in the sky today








.

.

he could remember that day
because any day with his son
was a day to remember