Mortal

My line is finished
Fallen into the blue storms that wither against
The infinite sphere of God's great Plaything

I can see the stepping stones that twist and fade behind me
Skulls of my mothers that dot the ground, whistling embers of a spent fire

Another is out there, a looming wraith of ticking atoms and useless emotion
Dissipating as she wrings her hands

If not for the tightly woven sinews of helpless genes or blind experience
I would happily embrace her
To the sound of sleeping planets
And falling trees