Yesterday, racing to the finish ... the old man bled,
‘take it slow, talk to me,
tell me what’s in your head…’

‘No, I’ve not finished, there was not enough time,
I’ve really got nowhere here,
Stuck still, in so many binds.’

Said the old man, ‘where are you going?
(gasping) We’ll both be there soon,
Going together, and soon enough―
we’ll be in the knowing,
and running past the moon.’

‘But you and me differ’ (this said with effort)
‘I, rich, young and beautiful,
You, you look pathetic.’

The old man was calm, ‘aren’t we both sick,
You should have stopped racing,
We all get there, too quick.’

‘For we reach the same line,
Accidents filling grief―
for some more than others.
But we’ll all reach the divine,
so be calm, and keep looking,
we'll soon enough see the sublime’ …

Convulsing with such utters―
they take together,
the last of their shudders.