He read a clever poem about
this, that and the grave
in the following Greek phrase:

Ουδέν μονιμότερον του προσωρινού:

“Nothing is more permanent than the temporary.”

Now approaching seventy-one,
he thinks more about
all those he knew
now in their graves.

When his time has come,
he will eschew
said graves
as a resting place,

and have his ashes tossed
to sand dunes and the Big Lake
— the wide open space.

Of this one thing he is sure,
that what he occupies now
is only a temporary place
in that wide open space.