I don’t know if God

counts days, stores them like marbles

humming in a jar.

does he chomp them one by one?

Does it hurt? The not knowing?

 

I don’t know why it’s

good dogs that exit stage two,

kidney failure. Still the curtain closes behind

orbs gone cloudy with our time.

 

I don’t know what I

would say to her, skin uncracked.

Eat cake while you can,

moisturize, avoid realtors.

Count every last white whisker.