Still rustle in the sky.
The ancient prophecies still advise
As if coined for this occasion.
There is so much that we hold on to
That is no longer there,
For what's ahead is another beginning,
When we haven't yet buried the dead
And the chords ring out a glorious past
To fill and distill the moment
That so much depends upon
But from which nothing arrives
But an intention
For peace or love or complete transcendence,
What already happened some time ago,
When we weren't really paying attention.
Finality lasts so long
As if what came before it needs to stay.
