When I die
I think I’ll live forever
as something that really happened.
I will be real
but forgotten
like a moment from your seventh birthday,
buried twenty feet deep
in a mind filled with billions
of unmarked graves like that one.
This cemetery
stretches on for countless acres,
but you’ve lost the address
and cannot pay a visit
to all those who still remain there.
And that’s what time is like,
a sequence of events registered by the cosmos,
some still detectable and measurable
but others too small to retrieve.
I think I’ll be like one of those.
But real.
As real as any explosion
or collision or formation
we still talk about today.
And that is how I’ll stay eternal.