I sit and wonder at the purpose
in the movement of this dance,
lining the floor plan of our lives
with faded footprints in the sand.
God,
wouldn’t it be nice if we found
paradise? But we’re hanging out
with corpses from forgotten
shipwrecks. If we only knew that
memory is illumined merely by a dying
candle, and it’s by this soft light that
we idly sit and mourn the living
and consecrate our dead.
Enough with experimenting in
the hush of sleep; we cannot
turn back against the current, nor
will the oceans freeze, so we must
loosen our hearts.
