Temporary Dying

Thinking permanent?

Instead...

Revisit the child within.
Ask if Van Gogh hadn't experienced the sunflower,
Would we know yellow and ochre as intimate friends?

Would music's rapture remain alive without
Pavarotti's high C,
Coltrane's "Sheets of Sound,"
A Shostakovich 1905 Russia?

Could scented memories remain permanent
Were ocean salt mere granules in darkness,
Pine needle sap but sorrow of nature's longing,
Darfur's wafts of dukhn simply yesterday’s past?

And what of touch,
Given freely by a baby's hand,
A mother's lips,
A feline's paw,
Is this not of permanent storage
To be accessed anytime
From the attic of our minds,
Forever willing to give,
Receive?

Can taste ever be forgotten from
Virgin mountain streams,
Warm milk from mother’s infinitum?

Such brackish tears of joy.

Such as it is,

Time passing asks to be but temporary
Committing Man not to gravity,
Tissue disintegration,
Or synaptic malaise,
Relying rather on our embracing Time,
Allowing wisdom to nurture cyclic preparation,
Life's pigments layered upon a limitless canvas.

Give Time its due.

Colors will dry,
Purity of vision will appear,
Absolute and bodiless as horizons awaiting tomorrow's sunrise.
Merely awaiting another Edge ever-changing.

For some…

Only denial.

For others…

The journey proceeds.
A perpetual hourglass
Remaining in motion,
Generating new arrangements.

The cosmic sand expanding its window,
Gives reflection back to the sun,
Renewing fire,
Generating even non-human passion,
Fostering endless vibrations

So…

Why not accept this iteration,

This dying as temporary?