if you can count the moments
that make up our love our years
our days of work and play
and sleep and kids and bills
and if you can count the hours
we have slept in stayed up
rocked a baby sat in
a hospital or waited for
a phone call a windfall a
short hall that leads to
a drink tall of ice tea
of cool water when garden
is picked and the chores
are all done and we
watch setting sun if
you can count the why
the when the where
the who of the moments
when we fought for
nothing for everything
for a hold on our selves
or a bond with each
other  be mother and father
and sister and brother
if you can count the
ties the lies that bind us
blind us twist out lives into
one long string  wrapped
in gold or in straw
wrapped in love then you
can do math beyond
world renowned genius
and master the playdoh
of playgrounds of
forever lands small hands
know secrets and numbers
that keep us on earth
and in flight every night

Prompt: “Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”