Days A Blur . . .

with clover calling, birdsong falling, too many jumbles of
coming, going,
putting, taking,
holding, releasing,
dying and being born

too much

to point to one or two alone or only or
anything but this blur called living
breathing
deeply
exhaling all the tension
(or most of it)

scattered and…

gathered up 24/7.

back snapping, crashing
as cat side’s torn open
shock and run,
stitched and hobbling
both of us

and the kids keep growing…

[pardon the blur of words and images and the lack of distinct communication. this is. where. i am. for now!]