“It Is a Consolation”
It is a consolation as well a curse that none
Of us lasts within this parcel past the grave;
While here, we have no choice but to mark a moon’s phases
And it is the sun that tells us that we’ve passed another day.
Still, insofar as all of us are eternal once created, what honours could
Exceed this single blessing? It takes a thousand years for a sunbeam
To reach the surface of the sun and eight seconds from that portal to the earth,
So we are told.
What we are not told is that once created, the sunbeam never dies,
Nor does it remain with us for long here
Among the living nor there
Beyond the last hotdog joint on the way out of town,
And we are left to guess whence it came and where it’s going
And what the hell it was doing here.