Isuppose we hope eternally
that something will last

that something worthknowing,
doing, would endure.

The heart repels the truth,
and willnot let it in.

If we knew,

we would quietly, gently,
stop whatwe were doing

put down our pencils, get out of our cars
stop in themiddle of sentences -

interrupt lunch in mid-bite.
To lay softly downin our tracks

to die.

The ground would accept us gratefully,
andnature would set hard to work
at putting things right
slowly, gently,bringing
concrete, asphalt, and fingernails to herself.

But the heartrepels the truth
and will not let it in.