Putting another month to rest
I look back across and see thirty days
I am pleased to have lived thirty days
placed gently in my brain’s cupboard
with all the many others lying modestly
there glassine layers in a stack asking
nothing of me expecting nothing
just lightly being all the days that
together form a singular life one which
no one else will ever quite know
nor will I theirs and on we go carrying with
us our little packets of secrets that we could
not share if we wanted to.