Short-timer finds time
on an afternoon bent
with wrestling weathers

winter and spring claw
at each others' throats
and uncertain maples
warily release their
saps

Short-timer finds time
on an afternoon wet-shod
in a gray rebel snow

defiant on the nether
side of everything
melting to a smirk
that'll linger 'til
June

Short-timer finds time
on an afternoon shorn
of the lost time spent
dawdling careering

We lie, locked in our death embrace.

Frozen in eternity.

Your bones hold all the beauty of your flesh.

Sometimes
it is hard
to spread your roots
in shaky grounds.

You are not obligated
to stay,
for you still are just a seed,
that the wind
can take
away.