the life of a single day is better....
8.110 dhammapada
waning gibbous
In the parking lot, among hard coal,
stones.
I find fossils
from the sea -
a folded fish,
shell,
krill-like diminutives in broken red chert.
Stone for stone
life's
long dead,
stored,
anonymous.
We
too
will
give
bone,
blood,
flood soil,
make mountains
or,
drifting to sea edge,
enter in.
Shell, us, we, stone,
once, then again,
when we end.
All cycled
selves
forgotten -
so many!
To be rock
isn't
imagined
or
immortal.
How can stone,
beyond memory,
be lonely?
There's no
without,
wanting,
wishing
or waiting.
You'll forget this,
but I'll say it.
We are mud
on loan,
all demi-stones.
8.110 dhammapada
waning gibbous
In the parking lot, among hard coal,
stones.
I find fossils
from the sea -
a folded fish,
shell,
krill-like diminutives in broken red chert.
Stone for stone
life's
long dead,
stored,
anonymous.
We
too
will
give
bone,
blood,
flood soil,
make mountains
or,
drifting to sea edge,
enter in.
Shell, us, we, stone,
once, then again,
when we end.
All cycled
selves
forgotten -
so many!
To be rock
isn't
imagined
or
immortal.
How can stone,
beyond memory,
be lonely?
There's no
without,
wanting,
wishing
or waiting.
You'll forget this,
but I'll say it.
We are mud
on loan,
all demi-stones.
