Soft Clicks and Murmurs

The air around you
Has all that it needs to
Sustain breathing you
Until you need food.

Food’s the deal breaker,
Hard to get, easy to lose—
Thoughts you can pretend,
But food you must choose.

What does that make you?
Alive as you go.
Thereafter dead soon.
You spoon chicken soup,

Think of Max Ritvo
And his charming thought
That chemo sounds like
Someone making soup.