New poem

First Attempts at Impermanence

There is no holding.
There is no stasis,
everything slippery
as a newborn
whose newness
is wiped away
with the vernix
and blood
of its entrance.
Nothing stays,
of any substance,
much less gold,
Ponyboy.
Except the held
thoughts,
gossamer yet
strong as spider silk,
that cover
everything.