Bring me antimony to
paint my eyes on some pottery


the Egyptians did it and
so can I.

In the twenty third century when most have forgotten me
there'll be some who'll remember me and others who might mention me and my eyes on the pottery.

If I kneel to cross my heart
I will still die
will be a part of the
conundrum

the pendulum will swing on and they
will still paint eyes on
the
effigies of me

and I go back to where
I belong
to the canyons in the mountains
to the valleys and the streams that flow
to the places that I love
and know

we all do in the end.