I shall live the short life, like the sunflower.
I shall grow tall in the spring chills, sway in the summer winds, and kneel come winter.
Before this life and after this life, this is not me.
This life is me.
I shall live the long life, like the memory of the sunflower.
The stroke of the artist’s brush. The recollections of lovers who idle in the field.
For an infinity of instants, this life is me.
This life is not me.
I shall live the eternal life, like the dirt.
The air that lifts the flower’s pollen. The worm that shits in the ground.
This life is never me.
This life is forever me.