in the paper, online, carved in stone, I see them:
some strange, some strangers, some friends,

all still, all gone, all with a minuend, a subtrahend and a difference;
what difference they made, I can't calculate

but their numbers are smaller than mine, tempting
me to believe I'm on borrowed time

extra days, hours, that will themselves be smaller numbers--smaller than those who will witness the mute math of my life