…
We meter it out
in heartbeats, giggles,
song, tick-tock of clock
and shades of calendar
squares. Tears. We stare at
walls, wonder what is
level (tiny bubble of
water, centered.) Point
true north and go every
which way. Loose. We
choose uncarefully,
measure regret with
wringing hands. We
stand against pencil
marked doorjams,
graphite years. We
cogitate and calculate
and extrapolate and debate,
and still we cannot know
the brea(d)th of a sunset,
the weight of a soul.
..
PAD, day 29.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
This one kind of took my breath away. Lovely.
Oh. My. Yes! ❤
graphite years, weight of a soul, yep, yep and yep some more.