it is no coincidence
that dying is to studying
as backward love is to revolution

it is in small paradoxes
that life calls to us from a distance
like trickling rivulets of a raging ocean
whose sound is truly realized when one peers over its cliff...

loud and unyielding, it cannot be studied in parts for its current wears on as if invisible to parched eyes all too lost it its roars of rapids or raptly intent on sitting still in meditation

and at height, away, we stand
our ears perked toward the truth
gentle mist settling like stars against our faces and hair
whispering

that life is jumping off a cliff and it will always move on