The Puddle

I’m now convinced!
Life is a six-year-old
Playing in an after-rain puddle,
And half-a-dozen small
streams in the playground,
Muddying the water
Building muddy dams
With muddy hands
Giggling that the walls hold
At what the walls hold,
Bursting
Into laughter as it overflows
And sweeps across the globe
Across seas, across time
With an army of fragile, timeless bottles
Carrying golden, yellowed, shriveled notes
that nod with their red paper hats
at what was in the past and what will be in the past,
And a bundle of endlessly blank white sheets,
That warp their emptiness into a microphone to announce:
“All you know
Is all you have known;
Nothing has changed
Because everything has changed”.