The Camera pans across a barren beach scape
a place seen in a moment of time.
A wind moves empty through the scene
and tuffs of grass stir amid the tableau of land and sea
that never seems to change.
Dead friends walk there amid the multitudes
that have come and gone.
Their names transient; like the stirring grass
beneath the moving bowl of a never ending sky.
Truly, we are not here - we only imagine we are.
And the more one is here, the less one is,
until the edges of your beginnings and endings
begin to blur like the impossibility
of separating one unchanging day from the next.
Quiet descends on the dead
and they go we know not where.
And, in our deep meditations we pursue them;
rivers circling between the sea and the sky.
The turning of life's wheel is mostly about
the enduring, mutating and evolving patterns of DNA
and so very little about the names and dreams
of the momentary instantiations that we are.
And yet we are here
with our names and thoughts
and yet we are here
with our philosophies and our meanings.
We watch the sand and the dust of each other
blow away in time's erosion
and yet even this,
even this can be embraced.
gallagher
03 October 2015
Christchurch, New Zealand
— Copyright 1965-2015 by Dennis Gallagher —