outside

i sit by the river and look at the water. bugs fly and dance above it. they swarm, blowing in the wind, aiming at nothing. on the other side of the planet somebody dies. i rest against a rock. on the other side of the city somebody is born. small whirlpools still flow. leaves still tremble in the wind. i lay down on the rock like it’s my bed and put my hand in the moving water. a bird sings beyond me. the water is pleasantly lukewarm, like my hand was meant to be in it. a log floats by. the bugs disperse as the wind picks up and my hair feels colder as the temperature drops. geese fly high. this will all be here long after i’m gone just as it happened before i was born.