What if I were lost to everyone?

What if I were lost for an instant or two,
In the wink of an electron’s eye
Since we are wiggly bits of energy
That leap in and out of quantum lives
As physics tells us we all must be,
Would anyone notice? Would I even know?

What if I were lost for a minute or two,
In the time it takes to compose
A coherent thought, as often happens
When I’m lost to the world
In the midst of a meeting or
Through a sudden signal drop
Would anyone there or anywhere
Notice or even care?

What if I were lost for an hour or two,
In the time it takes to sketch
A gamin playing on the river quay,
Or in parties where I’d rather sneak
To the library for a book
And later with methodical haste
Beat deadlines with minutes to spare
Would anyone here or anywhere
Complain or notice or even care?

What if I were lost for a day or two,
In the time it takes to stock on wood,
As happens in a hermit’s hut,
For a bonfire night to contemplate
The zen of nothingness.
Would anyone here or anywhere
Worry, complain, notice, or even care?

What if I were lost for a month or two,
In the time it takes to build a village well
Or to watch the grain in the field turn gold
Or to memorize my tribe’s ancestral names
Would anyone here or anywhere
Search, worry, complain, notice, or even care?

What if I were lost for a year or two,
In the time it takes to cross a continent
And to write a book in manuscript
And to dream of settling down for good
Would anyone here or anywhere
Trace my route or join my schemes,
Or worry, complain, notice, or even care?

What if I were lost for an eternity,
As I remind myself
We all are meant to be
But if by fate I go before you do,
Would you, or anyone here or anywhere,
Recall that once my breath was warm?
And would you know the voice that calls
When I greet you from the other side?

January 16, 2007

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Author’s note: I wrote these lines at a time that wasn’t good for me, in many ways.  So the tone is somewhat somber, even with a tinge of self-pity and melancholia. But the optimism—my strongest trait according to my closest friends—still shows in what I wrote about what I wished and dreamed of doing. Were you a bit shocked by the last stanza? I’ve long taken Dylan Thomas’ now-famous lines seriously, and since death has indeed no dominion, our loved ones and friends who have gone ahead will surely be greeting us from the other side. But enough of that. That  period of disequilibrium, quiet seething and desperately seeking is long past. So now I can smile in quietude,  dreaming of a weekend in a hermit’s hut to stock on wood and feed bonfires, not to contemplate the Zen of nothingness, but to roast some hotdogs and gulp some beer. I’m lucky for not having lost my capacity to dream. Have you?