This is the Way of the World
It is Sunday.
I am sitting here
on a wooden bench
watching the ripples of the Hudson River
and some rocks and trees.
The sun, 93 million miles behind me,
is making it easy to see
my own shadow on the path
between the river and me
as well as the movements of my pen
on my notebook fishing for words.
A motorboat goes by,
but none of the clouds overhead.
Somewhere on planet Earth
someone is taking their last breath
and someone is taking their first,
someone is getting married
and someone is getting divorced,
someone is making a fortune
and someone is losing theirs.
This is the way of the world:
now you see it, now you don't.
Here comes another motorboat,
there are two people in it waving at me.
It is moving much more slowly
than the other one
only minutes ago.
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