In the heat of the summer right now
I’m surrounded by a lot of things
these things are stuck in a cycle,
broke down, and recycled,
going from green to yellow,
alive to dead.

The thought chamber catches on:
I am one of those things,
yet the reality of the circle
bodes quite well with me.

Other objects around me bend the cycle.
They are more permanent than I.
Does it anger me that this concrete
will still be here when I’m obsolete?

No, for this concrete’s purpose is to be walked on
for five times of my lifetimes and,
I get to choose where I lay
at least.

I may not be permanent but
my mortality serves as a motivator,
a motor, churning and learning.
One day I’ll learn what it's like to be dead,
what it's like to leave my head.
For now I will sit, breathe the air,
and remain present.