Exist, exile,
when set aside for that last mile,
a trial at close of day,
why me, not you,
'tis for the few
to end at break of day,

my life not easy,
trouble free,
and yet it had its way,
through times of joy
and times of sadness
times of freedom,
times employed,

twinned the two halves
joined in gladness,
mother, father's seed
developed into me,

what magic that we live at all,
mysteriously understood,
the chemistry of matter,
solids, particles,
bones and flesh,

changing places over years,
blood and consciousness,
include a formula,
that random took its place,
in present times, its power,
its grace,

when we understand the whole
loose face,
the universe
so vast a form in flux,
like glazes in the white hot kiln,
their unpredicted fusion,
clay and rocks reformed
as glassy liquid,

soon to be a solid surface
hard,
and we, the human race
are only shards.