I lift my oars.
Just beyond,
rocks of earthquake and glacier,
broken into pieces.
Flashes on the water,
no trace of fossil left,
carousel and honeycomb,
twinkling coronas
vanishing in the sky.
Wanderings of a life.
The beginning of an end
that touches me.
No particular place
or single piece
that floods everywhere
I’ve lived.
No one catastrophe that overwhelms.
No one life that envelopes me.
Only roads that want traveling.
Each one to finding something new,
naive or fragile,
something no longer me,
with its own mortality,
its own faith and joy,
and nameless love.