Tuesday, February 04, 2020


If the stars themselves
did not die, we might

hope we could live for-
ever. That would be

the last foolishness
for an old poet

like me, for death is
not something to be

worried of. It's the
left hand of a right-

handed life, natural
as breathing. Indeed

it is another
kind of breath, the last

one you get in this
body's physical

You may think loss is

all you get out of
it, but listen to

the stars. They will tell
you: when one star dies

it becomes the stuff
to make other stars.

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