Heraclitaurelianism (redux)

We streamed into the stream
The water we stood in
We stood in
Only once
We eventually returned to where
We came from
A desolate windy place
We began to melt away
We were consigned
I was not sorry
We had been
In time we’ll be again
Or we won’t

What I’m Reading:

“Where does it go, the Sunday angle of sunlight once only yours, wide and open as a window?”

— Debra Allbery / “Sidereal”