Time is short
I have no patience for hand stitches
Looping one after the other
The same stitch
Day after day
Rather
Tear up this tapestry woven life
Patterns
Become shrouds
When they cease to expand
Or change
Why live for 75 years and call it a lifetime
When each day
Repeats the next
Speaking into the void
Are you surprised that the only answer
Is your own
Formless
Echo
