After the Reservoir, 6 February 2019

Every fresh distinction is itself an afterlife.
Nothing much changes. We float quietly
Over the growing town or settle comfortably
Down by the side of an almost always empty
Country road. We are grateful for the quiet,
For the comfort, for the emptiness. Nothing
Much. Such a gorgeous oxymoron, meaning
Everything, everything but nothing at all.
Don’t mock a limited perspective. The small
Beast who steps out of the vehicle and nods
At the solitary morning, noting the silent line
Of cliff sandstone cutting out an empty sky,
Experiences nothing much more than a trick
Of constrained perspective, but the skyline
Conjured by the beast’s transience and tiny
Slice of life shapes an exquisite blue gesture.
If death is nothing and life itself is nothing
Much, thus everything, this afterlife we’ve been
Experiencing a while is nothing much besides.