Myrln is gone, but his spirit remains with us in the power of his words, thanks to our daughter, who salvaged his collection of writings.
Legacy
I want to leave you something –
but what?
My images are either silver compound
or airy theater –
both without example or duration:
mere light reflecting a moment of existence.
I was, my children,
but how to prove that to you?
What will serve as evidence –
for what is legacy but proof
your forebears were something more
than momentary makers of egg or sperm?
There is only this:
I came from shadows,
and toward shadows I inexorably moved;
I dove (or sank) deeply into shadows,
skirted the light flanking them, reflected awhile
then wrapped myself in them.
(Wrapt myself in them.)
My children:
but what?
My images are either silver compound
or airy theater –
both without example or duration:
mere light reflecting a moment of existence.
I was, my children,
What will serve as evidence –
for what is legacy but proof
your forebears were something more
than momentary makers of egg or sperm?
There is only this:
and toward shadows I inexorably moved;
I dove (or sank) deeply into shadows,
skirted the light flanking them, reflected awhile
then wrapped myself in them.
(Wrapt myself in them.)