Temporary

"Nothing is more permanent than the temporary."
                         ~ A. E. Stallings


All around, too many vestiges of  
           the temporary. Relics of every  
skittering desire. Possession: what I touch  
     becomes (I think) my own. 
For instance, rain licks my skin 
           and the sun scorches my face, 
     and I am helpless. Indecision can mean 
if one cannot choose, why not take it all? 
           Or so I've been told, sometimes. 
     There must be a limit to how much one can want. 
I used to hear a child practicing on the piano 
           when a window was open. Even a small 
     fragment can set an old unfilfillment 
loose. And then the soul says again 
           I want, I want. There must be a limit. 
     Today I saw a photograph of a man 
on a makeshift raft. He had rescued 
           his plaster saints. On the shore
     behind him, all the houses were burning.