Photo by Didier Descouens
Always more a diaphanous veil than a swaddling blanket
Is drawn away
Not by a pale, ghoulish hand
But a soft, silent breath
Which whispers across my face:
Memento Mori.
At the horizon I see
That perennial game of hide-and-seek played out
And I return
To irrelevant reckonings
When I hear a muted murmur
Floating in the air.
Memento Mori.
I have a great day
But one that is somehow tempered by a simple lesson in geometry
For I know
That I am not a circle
But a line segment.
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