I did recognize mortality

when in the moment,

across the room the world I lived inside of did maintain

a certain air of permanence

the sort that would stay static forever,

if we were to leave it alone,

only to gather dust,

to become an archiver’s treasure.

Yet I stood near the mantle,

wondered about the protective glass

and if ever it were to be shattered,

would the shards remain some distant remnant,

every decade

a new onlooker

might find the quiet reality of a time

when a renovation determined fate.