Count the Beads of Breath

You won’t grow near
Or far from death.
Your end’s not fixed.
You’re here; it’s not.

Once you’re not here,
Sure, then it is.
You should know this,
If you know words.

Count all the same.
It’s part of you,
That count of breaths.
The beads run through,

And you’re still you.
If you can count,
You know you’re here.
We’re here for you.