There are only two things worthwhile leaving behind...” —Stephen Sondheim from Sunday in the Park with George You will die Yes You will die be run over while walking your dog catch a strange microbe go down with the ship And then what Only your dreams will stay on earth after you are buried under Only your little wood whittlings will whistle after you stop sensing Only an image, not a reflection, will be in the mirror after you stop perspiring and respiring That thing you see the light of potential the pattern found in the yarn before the weaving the song found note by note decade by decade in the sounds of rivers splitting valleys and bare feet slap-stepping across terra cotta tile the film that came from a single simple story board panel That ember is all you can hope toward immortality At the end, praise is no solace While others see the good of it see the new and next great god gold of it You will see the nicks and dinks and dents of it the scratch and slip and slice in it You will see it bumpy and bare and love the ache of its growing and gone You will know that germ of vision more for its illness than its illumination But yes And yes love it still as it undresses your love and remembers your melody But yes And yes You will see all its imperfections and love it best as loved best by it long after you’ve assumed the plainest of pine robes