This place is comforting again—
with all its granite reminders of impermanence,
all its arms of flesh pointing toward trustworthy destination.
I love these monuments to the promised outcome
of my every capricious breath.
I believe Heraclitus got it right.
There is only becoming and conflagration.
My body today is a resurrected being in relation
to my body seven years past.
In another seven years I will possess the body of another stranger.
I will never be the same.
There are only eternal goodbyes,
And so, for what it's worth, I spent the afternoon in confrontation
with the universal gift of accretion and entropy.