On a stormy afternoon
Some things congeal
A happy coincidence
Where strands of matter
Dissolve
Into the ether
And miracles
Happen on
A quotidian basis
My life
Is a poor substitute
For what people see
In the emerging chaos
There they find
Comfort
And a sense of belonging
A whirlpool
Of inactivity
And a dazzling
Display
Of cosmic fireworks
He wasn't here
To win accolades
To himself
Or acolytes either
All he sought
Was in the wind
It's silly to be afraid
Isn't it?
Because we know
Our time is short
And nothing
Of gravity
Is pulling us down
We should therefore
Soar above our travails
And leave behind
Our fragmentary existence
