Always one thing left behind in a series.


We were counting, and then the increments changed.

Even—no,


odd—


integers.



I might have insisted that the sheer abstraction of numbers is ridiculous.


Yet here I am, counting breaths as I would count


waves breaking on the shore.
Expecting their tempo to remain steady.



          Odd numbers always,
          weren’t they?



Divided from each other, they have no natural parity.


Loss makes unnatural remainder.