A Life

That the stars are adamant

everyone understands—

but I won’t give up seeking joy on each blue wave

or peace below every gray stone.

If happiness never comes, what is a life?

A lily withers in the sand

and if its nature has failed? The tide

                                         washes the beach at night.

What is the fly looking for on the spider’s web?

What does a dayfly make of its hours?

(Two wings creased over a hollow body.)

Black will never turn to white—

yet the perfume of our struggle lingers

as each morning fresh flowers

spring up from hell.

The day will come

when the earth is emptied, the skies collapse

and all goes still—

when nothing remains but the dayfly

                                         folded in a leaf.

But no one knows it.