on the days when honors come
he stops for a minute and imagines
that it could feel this way all the time:
trusted, believed, safe in a hold on the way
to a home that will allow him
to have a room of his own where he can look around
at beloved items carefully arranged in a new setting.
on the days when honors are given
he recognizes himself again. he touches the mirror.
he decides to believe that that reflection of crow’s feet,
gray temples, odd hairs in unfamiliar places is temporary.
he pulls himself out of the bathroom and goes out into the street
walking a little more carelessly.
on the days when honors come
he reminds himself that in the moment of his death
what he has been will vanish. he will forget himself,
and whether it becomes black or light in the next moment
the things he knew of himself will be gone forever. it will be good,
he thinks, that someone who remains will be able to say:
he did this, though. we won’t forget that he did this.
on the days when honors come, he is cast in concrete. he will decay
eventually, but it will not be his concern then.
Dark Matter 