Beginning again, like the sun asking
for a chance to modify its glow.
Was I dreaming all the change
the atmosphere produces, the inward vision
and games and what happened to the men
we used to be, what could there be
but tomorrow and the last and the next?
I return to the patterns and routines
that made chaos and wilderness bearable,
just like those before me: looking
for a chance to be remembered as more
than just a blink, more than just the dust
gathered here for a second
in eternity's wrinkled brow.
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