What came before us, will be here after us,
dust mingling with dust, across oceans,
all energy of the universe,
all grains of sand,
kicking up other grains.
Why do I still feel a longing
that burns my entrails
after all these months?
Will a hint of recognition, a face in the crowd
that looks like his face
satisfy my longing?
Will a monument?
Tears continue to
etch my face.
The universe can wait, they write. The universe doesn't need your dust.
