I have no discord with time.

Not like you.

Gasping for breath.

You’re suffocating in images of

your life running dry,

I found my enrichments in

firmaments of Nature’s promise.

You’re consumed with swindling

your own mortality.

Gasping for breath.

Self-persecuted by the density of

fear etched in your bones,

but spring never arrived—we

could have met then.

Instead, you’re gasping

for breath.