October 16, 2014 life
A poem or a song
completes itself;
it has an end.
A painting
or a sculpture
stands in its final form
for everyone to see.
A life
is a little piece
of a continuum;
when it ends,
we will not be there
to see it.
It is a phrase
in the world’s song,
sung always,
phrase by phrase,
until the world itself
is gone.