There is disquiet
in the not
remembering
of being born.
And of that final moment too,
cliff edge of breath,
millions have disappeared into it
but the curtain remains closed.
This enigma
of beginning and end
has driven us to worship story:
novels,
films,
earthquakes,
football games.
Tidy packages that climax
and close,
balms for our anxious souls
desperate for brackets
to contain the spread
of this strange
and wondrous life.