into a bird

another day is just another day. the cars keep moving into Christmas with the calendar. I count the years that disappear like clouds I can't remember. time runs through windows on forever and a decade leaves little more than frozen feelings. words don't mean much and nothing stops the sun.

and we fall further from the sound of your voice. attention is demanded by more pressing matters. we do what we must to keep going, making what we can from what we have; no more sense from today than the day that you left. the sun sets and we're still here clawing for answers from the dark. I fold the thought of you into a bird.