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.