the World dies so slowly
and is reborn with equal tortoise speed
and your life is where you are and what's happening
all sense-memory and identity with the time
you've been allotted making up your whole being
the copper sunsets of spring shining over the beach
to the cliff edges as the salty air fills more than your lungs
or even the dark cold gray mornings of flakes of snow
whirling passed the window from which
you look onto the deep snowy morning
and all the faces and all the bodies you've known swirl
superimposed over your vision
and who can tell what is dead and what reborn
in the moment of this awareness...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.