You ask why I write. br Why I stray in open spaces, br settling in corners, seeking br paper, leaves, anything br to document every inhale br exhaled. br br Not for money; that is given. br I do because I must. br br Because children grow br and leaves will fall. Because br pages turn and life br goes on - clichés br to comfort us as we fade. br br Fade we will, br like words on the page. br br Because here br inside this moment, br trees aflame br with day's last breath, br lives taken and given br in unfair exchange, br the world is screaming br for attention. br br And while I cannot hold br death, love or the passage br of time, I believe someone br ought to take notice, or br at least stop br to write about it.