I can't make a quick review.
It takes a lot of time to remember all
the big and little pieces.
My body, a memoir, written in unreadable wrinkles
tells the story of my specific joys, and all
I've lost. But if I wrote a poem, it would be too long.
Instead, see me as a mandala designed in time,
beautiful, unique, colorful art project,
in process of completion, then decomposition,
our NOWs gone forever.
(A sand mandala is ritualistically destroyed once it has been completed ... to symbolize the Buddhist doctrinal belief in the transitory nature of material life. (Wikipedia)