my life is shaped by many partitions
of space and time,
artificial except made real
because me and others have agreed
to embrace them,
except for the orbit:
that’s real
all on its own.
this earth
traveling around
that sun
one complete time
is a marker
we all agree on,
all of us who are and
all of us who have been
for as long as
being has been.
the seasons and the stars
know the orbit’s cycle,
all living things
know the orbit’s cycle.
so if this journal were a tree
I’d mark a ring
and continue to grow