Corporeal flow
sometimes quickly,
like love so fickle,
sometimes slow
like painfully waiting
for sorrow to go.
Everyone finds their places
in this stream of living,
among the passing places
and shifting faces laughing, smiling,
weeping, frowning, all too often fading
like the day ending in a casual crimson glow.
And for everything seeming so chaotic
with beauty, grace and persistent changes,
there is a purpose and meaning fragile and dependent
upon both the discordant and the melodic.
Gripping stubbornly with desperate fingers,
we grapple with our watches, and clocks and are dumbfounded
to see their grains pour so precariously through our grasp
when the moment of arrival has left us pondering the past.
But regardless, whether by fortune or by art,
Life continues in its persistent trickle,
puddling people together or pulling them apart
and subtly slipping them on downstream
to ends unknown or beginnings unforeseen.
