Ephemeral
I guess I am ephemeral to you, Incapable of being grasped— Like sand a hand so vainly clasped, Or smoke escaping through a flue That will not suffer closure... Were I another person, caring Less, or—freed from tangled history—bearing Less... But futile is prolonged exposure To winsome unrealities— In constancy alone is change, And yet, in retrospect, exchange Would be fatality... And so in wisdom always weaves The one who made our every part, Endowing us the very heart That loves, and on... Sign in to see full entry.