119. Erythrocytes

A moment’s sadness
evaporates,
clouded by the empty joys of
life.

Humans are pliable,
elastic.
This is what we do to
survive.

Words are immobile

Let me never die
obsolete;
let this moment of
desperation echo,
echo through days,
years, and if I presume
haughtiness,
the centuries:

Let some naïve student
encounter such a pristine,
eternal ode to
regret and
remorse,

knowing it is beautiful
to weep, and that
poet’s tears are worth
nothing in private
silence,
yet untold
millions in the hands of
invisible
spectators.