Somewhere

What does it mean to end?
Who are we, when it’s all over?
And what comes after the close?

I lie in my bed
And I try to think
And in the meantime
The city moves in sync.

Somewhere —

A cocoon awaits
Blinds shutter open
Hands grace a shoulder
And trees reach for sky
Frost bites
Birds fly
Glass shines
Lights die
Wind on a clifftop
A life to define
Paint trickles down
Tide starts to churn
A cat curls up to sleep
And the fire inside burns —

I think that the world we know always turns.
For even when the curtain falls
The actors still get one last encore.

I think that the tale we write always returns.
For even when the poem stops
Our eyes still get to read it once more.

For even when
We put down our pen
Somewhere —
I think our story
still breathes.

— Oscar Lee Murcott, 18