“Everyone needs a constant,”
said the change kid.
My constant is just that the
sun rises in the east and
sets in the west
and the world keeps turning
even as its people think they change.
Even topography is the very surface
and maybe even earth identifies
only with what exists and burns in its
And what is deep truth to us
is particulates and termites
to this rock.
Not even skin but fruit flies upon it.
What we see as impossibly grand is
another forgettable cluster to
a larger totality. And that is how
it has always been.
Even “always” to us is a single
breath for the bigger thing.
My constant may be no constant at all.
It is a moment as long as me.
A detail of something as I am a detail of that something.
We are the pieces not the whole
and the thought that nothing exists in me,
that I exist in the external
is the thing the sleeps me
the thing that sets the sun.