No ceremony, no celebration
when we arrive, when we allow
the shroud of time to embrace
all fears and then dispel them.
We hang on the edge, hold
each breath until the next
turn of the sun. How could we
have known such peace exists
when we were chasing rabbits
for the sport of it, wasting time?
Ask the old dog in the shade
if he is satisfied with his magnificent
dreams, with his clever editing
now that he knows he’ll never return.
Who would we be without them?