Lately it occurs to me
Time is not linear and
Its forward progress
Its forward progress
Is purely illusory because
Not only do the seasons
Take us round and round
But our lifeline loops
Around a central hub
Weaving out and back
As we wax and wane
And centrifugal force
Gives way to centripetal
Just like any flower
With pistils stamens and petals
Attached to its central stem
We die by slowly retreating
From our extremities
And yet a few more ways
We are like flowers
In that when we open most
We are also closest to death
And it is we who must learn
To let go of the stem
Co-terminus with
Our final breath
Our final breath
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