Stu Watson

xxSo what is it to us who stand
xxsecure in all our arrogance
xxxxupon an edge which time
xxxxwith her sharp way
xxxxxxwill soon erode
xxxxand breathe in with each stroke
xxxxred molecules that spit?
xxCan it be that no more than
xxxxthis year of wordless toil
xxxxhas divided us
xxwhen it can also seem forever
xxxxgrowing more abundant
xxgaining substance in its middle
xxxxeternity expanded
gaseous endlessness of distance all
xxcontained within a single year?
xxIn ordering our purposes
xxxxwe fall down evenly
eventually collapsing to the point
xxxxat which all compacts
xxxxxxxxhave dissolved
xxxxall pressures lifted off
xxxxxxxxthe blade rends
xxxxup sprout miracles of blood
and in the glaze of all this emptiness
xxxxxxxxalthough alone
xxwe are sustained in happy knowledge
xxthat the curiosity we’ve discovered
xxxxcan’t be a bastion of regret
but stands against itself in its assurance
xxproudly embracing its single ember
xxxxand ready to wink out
when strength abates and our decline invades.