Small Comfort

There are a few things I can be sure of.

The sun will rise tomorrow,

though only death and taxes are certain,

rain will eventually wash blood from stone,

though God surely sleeps alone.

and the world is built on piles of bones.

The wrinkles around my eyes are only getting deeper,

and the light at the end of the tunnel is in no way nearer.

The seas are rising,

and all the fish are dying,

but sea-grass is being planted in Scotland.

Everything is more expensive,

except for airfare.

So when you finally get there your money just disappears...

but you exist.

So I can travel the breaking world,

and watch the steam rise in curls,

from vents in New York City,

while lights go out in Kiev,

and you can do it with me.

Because you exist,

and that's enough comfort for me.