Life diminishes us all.
It makes everything that there is less than what it was It takes the very essence of what is best.
There are things
in my life
which might now heap only a thimble.
Once they’d have filled a wheelbarrow.
We might mourn… or not.
We might wonder… or not.
We might wonder about that thing they say:
“nothing is destroyed it is only transformed”
To catologue the rusts and the worms
is to focus only on the process.
it is to miss the more fundamental question
Where does it all go?
I can only pray
that there is this underwater resevoir.
When all things wash away
because all things will wash away…
when they wash away it is carried off
in this subtarenean stream.
A torrent of the very essence of the things
life takes from us.
There is this ocean
which the rivers fill
if it is not the source of all things
it is atleast Creation’s engine…
and the emissions of this engine, the mist swept off that ocean…
they find their way back to me…
the very deepest of me.
Perhaps with my inhalations they penetrate me.
And they gather in my secret places,
the remnants of what I once had returned,
and finds it’s way out again.
On a page
in a file
in my computer
Life wrings us out…
but the drippings?
as they must.