strewn so inattentively across life

... And the way one can find oneself strewn 

so inattentively across life, across time.

Those who touch us, those whom we touch, 

we hold them or we let them go 

as though it were such a small matter.

How even know in truth how much 

of mind should be memory, no less 

what portion of self should be others 

rather than self? Across life, across time, 

as though it were such a small matter.

 

[C.K. Williams {1936-2015}, "5", from 'Lessons' in The Singing]