For the Record

               - Robert Hilles

When a heart goes quiet
another name is
written down somewhere
not to be remembered
but forgotten with the rest
saved carefully on
shelves or in computers
but never consulted
part of what time
leaves behind
evidence that it
can't take everything with it.

Our lives are
measured out in breaths
but lived in hours, days, months.
The only record of us
are the words and deeds
we leave behind.

The sun comes out after
a week of rain
and I watch a boy
make for the park.
If someday he writes notes
on scraps of paper
how many of them
will survive?
Each life is a
memory and nothing more.