The laying out and the sorting: the more than enough

You are of the tenor again,
while the vehicles of this life
wave their assorted banners and say
                    what were you thinking?

You can't take anything
with you, but neither do you want 
to take anything for granted,
                    you know? 

To not allow for any
more pleasure, to speak
a constant apologia: it takes 
                    away such depth of sky.

Even a tiny wound 
reeks of salt-lick and pine
kindling. Even the ancestors
                   come back for a taste.

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