Came upon this poem in downtown San Jose...it's etched into a giant slab of concrete that serves as a random, giant table of sorts in the middle of a plaza. Was intrigued enough to find it a few weeks later on the interwebs. Something about it, I feel is so true.
Could be
I only sang because the lonely road was long;
and now the road and I are gone
but not the song.
I only spoke the verse to pay for borrowed time:
and now the clock and I are broken
but not the rhyme.
Possibly,
the self not being fundamental,
eternity
breathes only on the incidental.
-Ernesto Galarza
