a long goodbye 2

Are we not merely a passing?
A mere body of memory
That dissolves inevitably
Into traces? Even the earth 
That keeps us in its bosom

Means to erase us, compost
Of nothing significantly
Important, if only for a moment
There in that briefest
Brief encounter: soul meeting

In timid attempt at love,
Immortality, that kind of song
Praising our own slow passing.
We have given it a name:

Life. Love. Living. Song.
Poetry. Your name. Mine.
Others we know of. All of us
Mere passing, remembering
Each other in hopes of staying.