Days are the harvest of time. Each a segment
of film-strip lit with its own light and,
for all the weight that fills them,
thyey are delicate as the dandelion seeds that stream in
their billions through a bright summer’s afternoon.
Turn your palms down; look at the parchment
on the backs of your hands; a certificate of life.
You carry it; it stays with you, ends with you;
a reason to celebrate, for today all our days are this one day;
it is an exhilaration to be.
