we are always approaching death

we are always approaching Death
languishing onward the horizon slow
or racing forward as white rapids
we never know the distance
the measure of Her breath
drawing close to ours
subtle and fleeting vapors 
laden with the heavy hour
never the speed She approaches 
sparse with Her words 
parting us from our ways
wrapped tightly to Her cold bosom
never the circumference of this sphere
that keeps Her away for a time
the circle drawn around our being
blood or chalk or piss or mother’s milk
warding away spirits or so we think
as She laughs and enters each of us