Whenever I went to the beach as a kid
I would count and number the lizards that scampered on the porch
They were like napkins dropped from the hand of someone hurrying down the street
After delaying their commute for a pastry
I wonder years later
Was ever a lizard counted twice?

I can’t help but number every poem I’ve ever written
As a kid I counted everything
Every time I clapped at a school assembly I clapped the same amount:
25 claps every time. I couldn’t stop myself
Children of divorce count more I think
I counted all my Christmases
One with mom, mom’s mom, dad, dad’s mom, and dad’s dad
5 every year

Looking at anything in a self-referential series is like living in liquid glass
Transparent but warped and shifting
The path taken is obvious but misguided
But the numbering freezes time
My first poem about numbering was how I felt then
This is how I feel now
Evolution