The sleepless moon
flings itself across the sky.
Bankrupt cottonwoods
shed their leaves to pay their Spring debts.
Winding a clock backwards
fails to make me any younger.
Nor does it allow me a do-over
on my blunders.
Accumulated disappointments
rest in a warehouse awaiting distribution.
So many folks discount kindness
my retail shop goes under.
Some starlight hits the atmosphere wrong
and falls to earth broken.
I never wish to calculate love
or print love’s version of baseball cards.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 