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I sometimes wonder
(once in a while, not really that often)
what will become of this world
when I am gone?
What will the world remember of me
when my days here have finished?
The work I have done,
modest as it is,
will live on I know;
a few slim volumes on a dusty shelf somewhere
waiting to be taken up and read
by some inquisitive and curious child
like I was,
and an arc of knowledge will unite two generations.
But will something more of me abide
when my bones lie in the ground
or my ashes are scattered?
I know this:
the Earth of which I am part
will never die;
or if it does, it will explode
into countless fragments
of still more earths to be.
My living matter
and something of my energy
will join with other radiant hues
to form new stars, new earths,
new light and life.
And I know something more,
something smaller,
warmer, closer to the touch:
Some of what was in me
will survive
in the glint in the eye
of children yet to be born:
my own progeny, perhaps, yes--
but an even wider circle, too:
I will survive in the eyes
of the children of the children of those
who know me now
as the spirit that will not be chained,
who will sing a timeless, youthful song,
who will live this life imperfect but beautiful
and pay back (pennies on the dollar perhaps)
the gift of life I’ve been loaned
these few score years of mine.
jbs
7/6/00 - 1/27/02
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