The exchange

The exchange                                                                                                  
 
In my prime, I galloped easily enough,
carrying the torch in a marathon relay
 
but fatigue has now invaded my legs and lungs.
I search the landscape for the next bearer,
 
the flame to be carried (I am told)
onto a new stretch of a heavenly-charted path.
 
While running, I recite the scriptures
that say I am the fire I bear
 
(although I never do quite believe it).  
I see now, stumbling toward the exchange,
 
that most of what I think of as me
is destined to dissipate, give way,
 
lie down covered and surrounded by the dirt
I have lifelong trampled underfoot.
 
Yet I imagine, while I still might, that roaring flame
jogging onward in someone else’s hand,
 
beyond my outstretched fingers,
into the soft silent darkness beyond.
 
O child of God, such a far-fetched discrepancy: 
Who Meher says you are and who you take yourself to be.