Untitled Poem

The only thing that is
just one thing
is everything.

We might as well talk about the lives of pears.
We might as well believe in money.

We might as well hold our loved ones tight
and tell them we'll never let go.

It's true enough.

Sometimes when the snow falls in late November,
it melts, and the grass is green again.

Sometimes when the cat gets out,
it doesn't come back.

Where does it go?

We might as well mourn the falling leaves.

We might as well sing in the shower.