Others must carry the news
“He’s gone.”
Three seconds after the part
that’s “me” leaves this dimension
of suffering,
I’ll be off and asking:
“What’s next?”
Not looking back.
Gazing ahead, into the Universe’s
vast, compassionate,
unblinking eye.
The story of this small life will dissolve
among so many others,
extraordinary or mediocre,
like particles drifting slowly
to the ocean deep,
joining the vast sediment,
anonymous.
In a few million years,
some intelligent octopus
will use my bones to power
a liquid reading lamp
as he writes six lines at once
of his own bad poetry,
imagining what lies
in the not-water far above,
under the same yellow star.
HemmingPlay 