Old Atoms

Matter is eternal. Can’t be created or destroyed, only—
what’s the term?—rearranged in space. 
The scientific principle of same shit, different day. 

Which is a fancy way of saying that matter
doesn’t matter. What matters 
is vanishing:
a breath, a birdcall.

The Israelites got sacked by one 
ancient empire after another, atomized and scattered,
and yet they praised God in bewilderment: 
You could have destroyed us, and you didn’t!

You could have died in your sleep, 
but here is dawn in the blue pines. 

Listen: 
Every breath is borrowed. 
Every birdcall goodbye.