I on the other hand am fighting
The not care-edness of being.
The camera I use today will be
Electronic junk ten years from now
As may we all for all I know.
Tip-toe as I might up every
Little hill, past flowers
Still in bloom, I see with
Infinitesimal glimpses
Using rheumy eyes and try
I might think to reach out
For something to grasp,
Feel my last gasp coming
In a cough like a fit,
Fearing solipsistic sentiments
I might give my camera away,
Crush poppies in the field as I
Walk by, lift my eyes to meteor
Showers and eclipses beyond
My reach even if I were to take my
Hands from my pockets and try.
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