What it is that is not ending (poetry)

The things that are,  are 

echoes,  waves,  third hand 

handmedowns of

were

The music we listen to,  serves only to

remind us what we heard before and 

where we were and the breezes we felt on

those warm spring nights

those windows left open

nights that lasted for weeks  

I open up a box of blank paper

close all the windows 

turn off the radio so I can focus

on just now or

better still

what will be 

^{They fall, they fall} 

^{Descending, sweet melody}

^{And what it is, that is not ending}

^{is a sweet mystery}

^{Elephant revival - Ring around the Moon}