In The Flesh, It Is Immortal

Flying away from my mother's

Funeral, it occurs to me,

Brilliant insight, I've never died.



This flesh that manufactures me

From bits and bobs of other things

Derived from flesh itself alive,



Derived from flesh itself alive,

Derived from flesh itself alive,

Derived from flesh itself alive....



Bodies birthing other bodies

Grew old, of course, and later died,

But the flesh, it is immortal.



And then the hard thought follows fast:

All that living, generating

Eternity was never me,



Not until very recently.

I myself am momentary,

The flickering space flesh creates



As one survival strategy.

My consolation lies outside

Life's gift for continuation,



In the extraordinary glare

Of knowing I am this knowing,

Nothing containing everything.