I see your face bright in the eyes and full in the lips and I remember seeing that same face when there was nothing but loss and I remember seeing that same face when there was nothing. Scratchy pops and vinyl antiquities are mixed with prerequisites and adequacies. Scorned but not at all, who is it that says there was even a beginning. All these days and hours blend before I thought they would and those yesterdays and yesterweeks and yestermonths blend all the same. There was one more sip left or maybe there was never a drink at all.  “Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else.”