The Dying Days

They fold and expand like

a breath held.

Like listening for a pin

drop.

A heart stop.

Meaning something different here.

In these days.

The still here.  Still here.

                  Still here ness of it all.

The how is the world still turning ness of it all.

We still breathe the same air, in these days.

These precious, hear my soul out, life will never be the same again days.