Outside of class, not even in a hallway, on a Sunday
It occurs that Democritus must have been looking at clouds
And mulling the Thracian Heraclitus's work
On the always-changingness of things,
And he turned to a casual friend and said They recombine.
You'd never get that from a hot, blue sky, the permanence
Of those major Desert Gods, each one a One.
I tell you, life requires the drama of change, the accident
Of passing cars, even sedans whose whoosh is their only trace,
Not just to keep us awake for the important parts
Of the play, but to resonate as symbols of the theme,
The Start-and-End. For the roiling storms, cumulonimbic
Strike and attack, they come and go. Take this though: iced tea.
Both my last joy and beginning of a fresh day.