Endangered

Photo by Lasclay on Unsplash

Can you sense the tornado of thoughts inside my head?
Can you see the well-worn path the swirl has traveled? 
Heart to head and back again – as sure as the earth’s rotation.
Why does it pick up more debris with every passing year? 
Have I only learned how to pack my fears?
Can you teach me the art of unpacking?
The sun is shining and you are cutting the tall, green grass of summer.
Why am I sitting inside contemplating the worst thing?
Will my contemplation eventually turn me to concrete? 
Will noticing the three freckles marking Dancer’s nose slow the spin?
The garden is in full bloom; death has no place to take root.
Did you know I have always feared you would die first?
And while I hold my breath, you plant milkweed for the monarchs