Things that can’t be mopped;
Sanitized by Jesus in a fit of mercy
But can be carried like a cellphone
And ring just as much. Death.
Death hangs heavily on
My heart and swings like
Rotten fruit waiting to fall.
I hold on tight because I fear
That I’ll forget the taste.
“Where do we go?”
Science can identify germs;
Split the smallest piece of life,
But cannot say with any certainty
What happens to us when we die.
Blood pools and sinks down low.
Bodies break down and decompose.
But what about the soul, the spark
Of intellect and curiosity that
Starts when we first open our eyes?
“What do we know?”
By looking into the lonely darkness
The Hubble telescope found thousands
Of us. Thousands of galaxies looking
Back at us from light years away—
Many who by the time we see them
Are gone. Their greatness being no
Less beautiful because of it.
It makes me wonder if we, too-
are already gone but still shining.