The walls may rot, collapse, be crushed or fall,
but new dimensions are formed at each fold;
while these temporal illusions may pall,
our grasp will always far exceed our hold.
Brick and bone and flesh may turn to dust,
but from such chaff arises life anew;
the oxidizing properties of rust
serve to remind us payment must come due.
But is that molecule of payment lost?
Or does it simply seek another form?
Why mourn a thing that truly never dies,
but trusting evolution, pays the cost?
A tree that burns to ash, to keep us warm,
transfers energy to another guise.
19 DEC 2002
