February 10: Wonder

[February Feels Like]

A day

drunk with the nectar of 

nowness

weaves its way between

the years 

to find itself at the flophouse

of night

to sleep and be seen 

no more.

Will I be less

dead because I wrote this

poem or you more because

you read it

long years hence.

---

Maya Angelou, Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit Me Well (1975)

I think about the idea of immortality through text all the time but haven't found any answers. Is it true? Does it count? I don't know!