. . . Before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. — Ecclesiastes 12:6-7

What from us — this mortal clay
fashioned from the shifting dust
of earth — can you expect?

We labor with the human breath,
gasping towards eternity,
yet find no rest.

Our stumbling feet and fragile wings
become entangled as we go.
Sensing we should fly we trip, we fall —
we live, knowing we shall die.

Temporary tenants — with stick and straw
we build hollow houses,
delving deep within ourselves for wisdom
but finding there more emptiness
than we care to explore.