We think we can hide
the disconcerted grimace
of disbelief
from our erstwhile
transcendent faces,
and forestall our
perverse
yet tremendous
confusion
by attending
to the this
specious present.
And we're good—
and always
getting better—at it.
But we're wrong
to posit what's next
as perplexing;
which is so
maddeningly
arcane
and complex. And
it's death
which is so aching-
ly simple
that it blends with the
unreasonableness
of every breath,
even when
we forget:
it's the nexus
where all doubt
and talent
must cancel;
the place
where all our grieving
ends.
