as if
they matter. ignoring
in our human way
that one day
the sun will burn out
and everything
will go.
all these books,
all these poems.
the cards and letters,
the art,
the journals that we keep.
photos of you
and me.
all metal
and stone, will disappear.
everything being
just a finger dragged
in the sand
awaiting a wave
to draw near.
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