the aftermath of life is shaped like a crescent moon
stars sometimes disappear and lines on our face
are like roadmaps to eternity
in rooms of whisper we find ourself
contradicting not anyone's nature

what is there of life but to sift through remnants
It is a lovely too soon spring day cold
one could use socks if they chose
bare toes in birkenstocks provide avenues which carry me
long after I am gone
someone will tie their shoes in a knot or bow
expecting similar circumstances

life carries us where we are supposed to be