rest in the meaning of words
they are cups into which the water of life is poured
even splendid things decay
fire blossoms for a while and soon is ash
zero is a perfect circle
nothing is what we are added onto
nothing is what we are subtracted from
the rest is up to the meaning of words
and the hieroglyphic of your footprint
as you journey over the world's roads
worn away by life you become life
rain falls on rock for awhile
rock dissolves and then only rain
all I've got in my bony old hand
are my empty palms
but they are turned to you
my offerings? the road I walked to get here, the seeing of it
the memory of it as it disappears
the sound of our voices as we watch it go
— Walker Brents
