Whether it was
the 8th of October
9th of November
10th of December
doesn’t matter ~
memory’s disassembler ~
just the present precipitation
from all that happened
The salt that seasons our seconds
cinnamon minutes
sweet & sour hours
plus the + vibes
of grateful gifts ~
echoes of expressions
Ripples of thrown stone actions
& the fruit of our most
persistent thoughts
To this I give a special place
since it chides my face
with freezing rain
or kisses my cheek
with windblown dandelion seeds ~
all the things I will
or won’t ever do again
Any weather
will not last
but can still stick to my skin
with the chill of frequent stings ~
I will watch
what I make of my mind
Mind myself at all times
& make sure I make
a sugared future now
with the most golden
thoughts words deeds
to sweeten the polluted air
that surrounds us here
on the crowded stage of Earth
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