I’m fine with the fact that each second dies as soon as it’s born,
birthing and killing me along with it.
As the man-made measuring mechanism
tells us that with each moment, there is
a change,
So I, too, metamorphose
with each tick and tock.
A death of self- a senescing-
timely, and repetitive.
The moulting of an identity that once existed.
The world giving me a new opportunity
to decompose, contribute to the carbon cycle,
yes, again,
turn me to CO2
release me into the soil and let a plant grow where I stood.
Every day
with endless opportunities to have my own
renaissance.