Ashes to ashes. Stardust to stardust.

Not something you can take with you

Exactly

But not something you can easily

Relinquish.

Grow claws just to clutch at it for a

Best-kept second more.

Only these minutes

And just enough leeway

In between to say

Give me more time - I’ve got a few choice words

Left.

Why write?

Why right?

Why do ravens appear at my door and why do I catch fish with such

Clarity when every

Disturbance in the universe (could be?)

Is caused by the tiny spoons with which

I measure

Moments?

And why should I be writing love songs under a different name

For myself

When I could be

Serenading the wreathed

Sirens that call me

As I go the distance before

Slumber?

There is no wonder more than this.