WEBVTT

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"What Lasts."

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So help me love you and die.

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Paper into pulp and our words
last as ashes to cool the sun.

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The pen lasts in
stories by the fire,

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the ink bubbles, the
word is cremated,

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and spreads dumbly
as in our lungs

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I wanted to speak
it now, and how

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the explosive sound of the lungs
collapsing as they give back

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air.

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We have had that
energy burning, we

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have been at the throat of the
world, we have had a lifetime.

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I concede to that blue
flower, the sky and more

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than passing moral guidance.

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Because light flashes,
dies, flashes,

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some sing the
rhapsody of the liver.

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Yet what the symbol is
to the flower, the flower

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itself is to something or other.

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