To an Imaginary Friend 4

Adam Penna

When I am dead
and buried (we’ve been over this before),
what happens to the part of me
that casts its shadow here?
Is it too much to hope
a little of that solid mass
remains and knows,
remembering its former shape?
I guess, as far as boding goes,
this doesn’t well.
And not because it is impossible to tell,
but don’t all things tend toward,
I think the word is, entropy?
If this is true, Genji,
how rare and wonderful to be
a fossil in the desert
or a face in the moon!