it's over

in the inevitability of
life’s varied endings—
in preparation for the
vast majority—

I must be overwhelmed
by sentiment;
realize a
dormant appreciation;
attempt to craft
the momentary
from its original eye
or at least
in a sweat-bead
that whispers truths
from the temple above,
below, to me.

one must feel the urgency to grasp the tangible
before it dusts and is gone forever.

but my interest is in chasing
the Fade of such
weak memory,
starting after the burst bubble
and sailing through the cool
comfort of the osmosing
mist—

euphoric for that instant,
so content in the air; what
I knew all along:
if nothing’s there,
nothing can be lost.