There is no life after death
Is there life before?
Lights go down on the city
Inner Harbor, Baltimore

Migrants on the run
God bless the poor
Un pequito fun
3774

                    Senyor!

Ireland was misty grey
A bit like San Francisco
Saw the James Joyce statue
Rode the Dublin bus

We are the Witherells
Qualyxian the Quest
When my dad dies
What will become of us?

                trust?

Dr. Thomas, my favorite teacher
Under a southern sky

When you retire, I asked him
Will you contemplate the Cosmic Why?

I'll tell you truly, Todd, he said
Truly, I will not lie

I plan to reread all of Karl Barth
And listen to Mozart every day until I die.

According to Simone Weil

Pythagoras transmigrated
Plotinus did so too
Not only Hindus and Buddhists
Also Kabbalistic Jews
I myself remember
No former living lives
But come this time December
I'm the one who strives
For motion in the meadow
A-swimming in the sea
The Love Song in the morning
We waken and agree
The stars they shine in summer
In the winter we need Fire
We ourselves keep watching
For the Soul of the Messiah!

Not much. Searching. Futility.

                     Absurd.