Permanent Impermanence

It occurred to me today

that at some point

not long ago,

I changed my last diaper.

Don't get it twisted,

I'm thrilled to be done with it,

but it would’ve been

nice to know

that that was that.

Had I been informed then

that this will be the final time

you lift up these

fat, squirmy legs,

that your children

will no longer

need you

in this way

ever again —

there may've been

a different kind of

tear

streaking down

my face.

This happens

all the time

when you think about it —

we live in a state of

permanent

impermanence

swimming in an ocean of

last times.

At some point

we all checked our

answering machine

for the last time

not realizing

the red blinking number,

that flashing promise

of a boundless,

exhilarating future

was actually a

countdown

to the end of so many

things analog,

including

that boundless feeling.

How often do we get

the opportunity

to have a final

meal

at a restaurant we

adore

before it goes

out of business?

And if we do,

you can be sure

we'll cherish

every morsel

knowing these are

our last bites

before the

kitchen closes

its doors forever.

But we do —

we do get this

opportunity

and we know it's true yet

we somehow can’t seem to

navigate our lives

by it —

everything we do will have

its final occurrence

some day

someday

it'll be the last time you

swim those waters,

kiss those lips,

dance that freely,

watch the moon rise

from that place,

peel a fresh mango,

hug your father.

Most of us seek 

contentment

by changing the world

around us,

but it’s far more

fulfilling (and easier)

to simply change

the focus of our

desire

to want the things

in front of us,

knowing

that all these things,

like leaves

are clinging

so delicately

to the branches of our

aging trees,

ready to drop

ready to let go

whenever

the wind changes

direction.