A la recherche du temps perdu
Our cells are dying faster
than we breathe.
It takes less than a decade
to replace each bit of then
with bits of some time later.
We are impermanence personified
and yet we love stability.
We feel the moments we are in
to be the moulds that keep the past
and hold the future.
We dig up pots and arrow heads
and take each artefact,
each time-worn, broken relic,
each proof that we are mostly ghost,
as evidence of matter.