Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

April is the coolest month whether in December or July the ascent from low to high a measure of our sighs Never is the time to pause and notice the extent to which we've climbed or tumbled so long as we fall softly on the grass and the kissing of the summer lawns

The last scent lasts longer Than words or bread Longer than shadows In the early morning Or the late afternoon It’s the scent of something You remember from some  Nothing day that came Like sparrows in May Before you guessed  It was really April 

The echo of nothing surely means something? Tuesday becomes Monday as we wend into Wednesday but isn't Monday still true? Mundane is bright wherever you go, brighter than Good brighter than God Even peaches die the tree, leaves fruit, stone but the sweet scent lasts for a million years

Something is something and isn’t Monday but Monday is something. Isn’t it so? And if Monday is something and nothing is brightening wherever we go, then nothing is peaches and savory things no matter the weather or the day of the week.

There's nothing here! said the empty blog page now there's something here and something else coming soon and something else and something else until there's nothing left then we'll pack up and go ashes to ashes dust to dust leaving a never-ending poem in our wake at our wake.