Who knows where this life will go?
I know for sure that I do not.
Who knows for sure where anything goes
When distance is relevant
To what the observer observes.
When the fire runs out
And the embers don’t catch
Who will be there
To light a new match?
When the rains are all gone
And the river is low
Then who will be there
To restore the flow?
The words may write themselves
In the space they occupy
But who, then, will read
When all alive die?
What is a word
Without one to speak it?
What is a story
Without one to read it?
What was the world
Without one to see it?
A Life in Poems 