There it goes. All of it.
Flames up and out, the roof
gone, history in ash.
An unquantifiable loss for
Brazil, for all of us,
and a reminder of our
total impermanence. I
don’t know what was lost.
It’s not a museum
I’ve ever visited.
Some bones, paintings, documents.
Proof of one thing
or another. Whatever
was stored there
is lost now forever.
And the paintings stolen
from the Isabella Stewart
Gardner museum—also gone,
perhaps destroyed, only
their empty frames
remain. The statues of Buddha
destroyed by the Taliban?
The books burned by Nazis
or marauding Vikings?
That painting your daughter
did in 3rd grade that you
accidentally dropped into
the recycling? You think
any art is safe? The universe
doesn’t need the Mona Lisa
or Declaration of Independence.
Even if those items last
ten million years, that’s
chump change to the universe.
The universe laughs
at ten million years.
Kid, I do ten million years
before I get up in the morning.
The universe does not
care what we preserve in
our wooden buildings.
That cold, infinite emptiness
is a cold, infinite emptiness.
So, there it goes.
All of it. The noise
of the loss is a vibration
(the bones, the documents,
all fuel, all gone,
no mercy, no farewell)
but heartache is brief.
I’m not saying you
should stow your
grief. I’m saying your
grief, no matter how wide
or deep, is temporary.
When the cold and infinite
emptiness comes calling,
the only human
response
is to
begin
again.
