And things will keep on beginning and ending.
The roar of the throng beneath a sparkling stage,
Glowing lines across the sky as bits of space burn,
The last hour before sunset and the first hour after sunrise,
And fleeting first loves and kindergarten friendships.
And things will keep on beginning and ending.
The sweet, metallic scent after a thunderstorm,
Your grandfather’s smile and then your father’s, too,
The hiss of a freshly poured, frigid glass of soda,
And the rhythm in your chest that keeps your skin warm.
And things will keep on beginning and ending.
The taste of the dish your mother cooks most often,
Long letters in the mail from someone far away,
The mourning dove, which sounds like a Saturday morning,
And everything else that seems worthwhile.
