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

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