After conclusion, do not give a shit
about the difference between breath and fart.
Choose rather to describe just one more art
located in the space twixt fear and wit.
The options are only an easy bit
of watching lively sparrows swiftly dart
across from emptiness back to the start,
the only moment that is clearly lit.
At this moment we halt, and begin
to listen for the hooves on the soft earth
while waiting for the final starters’ gun.
Prepare each face with a last pleasant grin,
and confront fear with ordinary mirth,
and gratitude that we’ve beheld the Sun.
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