I know not what I am,
though I exist, I persist in the acts of wondering
Am I here?
or are you there?
How does Einstein know which way is up?

If you live, long after you were born
long after your death,
would your light still show
Could you call it forever?
Or is it just another breath?

Would you call it a moment
or something much more potent.

I know not what I am
I see only stars, forever they spread
out past the future,
out near the end.