In whitest skeletons the shadows of day
dusk dim and, mantle-like, settle and lay
upon bristling grass and sleeping hay.
To become is to come from the came
through old existence into some changed same.
The shadows, in covering, assert twilight’s change.
And the seed in the grass, as well as its eater,
is being the being of unending water:
The seed is life, and so it its eater.
To become is to come through the came
through old existence into some changed same.
The eater, in eating, thrives as it’s changed.
Like the ash of our skeletons, our selves are not stone,
and to be shaped in true friendship the heart becomes home.
The whole of a person alive’s not alone.
To become is to come through the came
through old existence into some changed same.
The lover, in offering, both the source and the change.
—Elisabeth Kramp
