All else being equal,
I fear there is no sequel,
we have twenty-five thousand days
on this lovely damaged earth,
to shake and bake or make and break,
to live, enjoy or endure,
to seek perhaps the elusive cure
in moments of grace amid the strife
for the wonder we call life.
A concatenation of corpuscles,
skin and teeth, bones and muscles,
is this thing that you call Me,
and I call We,
never having perceived or believed
in any central unity.
So in a thousand different ways,
take your twenty-five thousand days
on this lovely damaged earth,
before you return
to the unknown bourne,
to the place you either were or weren't
before the gift of birth.
Take pleasure in waters flowing,
flowers growing
grass greening
mountains mountaining
steeples steepling
people peopling.
