Measurement (Psalm 90)

At some point

in midlife

he measured his lifespan

on ten fingers and ten toes,

a rough estimate

declining annually,

of the number of

remaining Christmases

he may have left.

Anyway he counted,

it wasn’t many.

His family,

perhaps a son or a daughter,

challenged the morbidity

of his methodology,

insisting it was not like him.

Somewhat shocking,

he agreed,

but not depressing,

for each day shimmers—

the way

late autumn sunlight

dances on water,

mosaic leaves rustle in wind or

sequins sparkle on a gala gown.

Each day is to be treasured.

And if we were immortal,

would anything matter?

Teach us

to number our days,

that we may gain

a heart of wisdom.