Palate cleanser

Once, mixing chemicals, his glasses almost glowing,
he told me we were falling at that moment,
at every moment, through a slow funnel of days,
that when we die the funnel opens on itself
and gobbles everything we've done, spitting out
hours, minutes, every increment of time, leaving
us a glove of accumulated light that we wear
forever. He only explained it once.

Lance Larsen
Elegy to photographer Donald Pugmire