We act as if death will pass us by
as if somehow —
we will be the one exception
to the one guarantee.
We cloud our days with fantasies that our time is infinite
by remaining on the surface
of our tasks, our relationships, our emotions
afraid to see look and see
our own fleeting vulnerability
staring back at us.
For if we peered deeper into absolutely anything at all
an unfolding would begin in us,
a reverence for the majesty within the mundane,
would whisper’s the loudest truth —
so subtle it rattles the cage around one’s soul.
The knowing comes closer
cascading around you as you stand beneath it’s gushing fall
baptizing you with everclear understanding —
death weaves itself through every crevice of existence
as you open your chest wide
wide enough to breathe eternity in