the air feels stricken with grief. 
i say things to hear how they sound. 
i regret saying some things when i hear that sound. 
i don't like the sound. it isn't what i want to say. 
i want to say the same thing
better in a way. 
my nature comes and goes. regardless,
i have to keep a record,
of regard, i imagine 
i do. fear stopping. you can't take back a note 
once it's sent. 
if it is not received, no matter.
maybe you can say something else, 
say the thing you wanted to retract 
was just a footnote. 
anyway you have to count on some grace,
a little sympathy these days. 
it's always been the same way, these days. 
look at the insects 
gathering manna 
in the fall, feel inside the need 
to gather in too, 
gather in the need, 
prepare the grief for grief,
store the sun for winter, it may be weak,
it may be naive, yet you
try and prepare for hard times 
or death. you love. death makes love,
you can't store it for winter, 
prepare it for hard times,
hard times are coming, love
is already here. in another way the air
feels 
stricken with love.