And it came to me then. That every plan. Is a tiny prayer to Father Time. As I stared at my shoes in the ICU. That reeked of piss and 409. And I rationed my breaths as I said to myself.
God bless the daylight,. The sugary smell of springtime. Remembering when you were mine. In a still suburban town. . When every Thursday. I'd brave those mountain passes.
When we laugh indoors. the blissful tones bounce off the walls,. and fall to the ground. Peel the hardwood back to let them loose. from decades trapped and listen so still.