#poem #poetry #amwriting #napowrimo ....

Only breath, of all that connects us to the stars,
when held gently on the palm will trace the past.
No swiftless season there: to ripen lingered day
to that we might call wisdom, in folly unto art,
that meaning might be found. Then let it stand.
And, let it slip away across those ridged whorls
like dried apples; never bought nor bitten
but handed out for healthy teeth and minds.