I read a poem about immortality
only misread it as immorality. I learned
about both as a child — from my parents,
from church, from the world at large.
I keep running over that phrase — at large
— trying to misread it as something else.
Sometimes things just are what they are;
no degree of reconsideration — purposeful
or not — can turn them into something else.
And other times, no matter what you do,
a thing won’t stay what it’s supposed to be.
A different kind of poem, another kind of living forever.
