We, all of us, return, and dress another way,
A different simulacrum of reality;
The energy we call the soul assumes new form
Within a multi-verse of change and random choice.
Next time, you might come back a brilliant butterfly,
Bright wings a-flutter, flying off to find a mate,
Still missing, caterpillar-like, your warm cocoon;
A young amoeba, almost ready to divide,
Multiplying in a single drop of water,
And unimpressed by nearby parameciums;
A single sunbeam, shining on a chilly day,
Homesick for the fiery star that cast you off;
Or, a forlorn grain of sand, on a wintry beach,
Wistfully recalling you used to be a rock.