doesn’t write epics.
She lives a workday
and calls it a life.
Months beneath the water,
then eight hours in the air.
She rises,
mates,
and is gone.
Just a short note
in the margin of a single day.
And I,
I stand here, almost envious,
of that pure and simple mission:
To begin, to love, to end all in one bright span.
Awe in the brevity, a life complete in the arc of a single sun.
