And soon the roads will take you to
The place that has no roads
And there you will be lost to time,
Old traveler. The forest will absorb you.
(The roads themselves will be absorbed.)
The birds are always well aware
They must make room for other birds.
And every raging storm
Leaves codes for future storms.
The continent of language
Your brain has built itself
To let you play with signs
And sounds will vanish--yes,
The moment your mind leaves
Its road, your unique ways
Of seeing, saying--indeed,
The World you birthed--
Will vanish like one breath
Into the air of all the breaths
Breathed ever in their time.
hans ostrom 2024
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