Difficult

To be a living thing,
If only as living
Makes an incompleteness

Out of the completeness
Of merely existing
And is always seeking,

Pulsing, every living
Thing. It’s too difficult.
Difficult’s what it is,

Including the growing
Wish to discontinue
Growing and dividing,

Seeking and half-finding,
But without actually
Ceasing to see what is

As something observing
That doesn’t have to live.
That’s difficult. It is.