Three days of imaginary beads.
I’m counting. Reciting. Three days of
languish, then a cardboard cat.
Three days of where did you go?
I can’t find you. Three days of waves
not abiding with the ocean tide app
on my iPhone. Three
days of parsimonious living, which is no way
to live at all.
Three days of waiting for the thing to grow;
3’s always the amount of space needed for dying,
or rising again. Have you noticed? 1 – 2 – 3

day 17 NaPoWriMo
for Real Toads


2 thoughts on “3

  1. Gah. I freakin’ LOVE this one. Goodness.
    Also, these days, that title “3” is half a heart, if you think about it. Without its carat arrow. Directionless. 😉

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