how to measure a life

and isn’t it odd
how we measure our lives in length,
marked by beginnings and ends,
goals and relays
of reaching.

so aware of the age
of our own existence,
forgetting that when
each day is lived in means
to an ending, the days
line up like matchsticks,
skinny,
lined,
thin,
indistinguishable,
extinguishable,
boxed in,

function without form.

and isn’t it rare
to see a life lived for width,
for the fullness
of a day rather than
the feeling
of fulfillment
in filling out
each check box
and quota,
to be filled
in the bulging
essence of
presence
than the typing of titles
and two-word
successes,
definable,
containable,
unsustaining.