Pyrrhic

You will bury me.
Small victories are pointless when
every life amounts to a series of losses.
Lower burning lights too begin to flicker.
Signposts leading dying minds to the infinite.
First breaths crystallize and fade without audience.
The weakest elk knows quietly what he dies for.
Thankful for the unspoken but visceral promise that this
planet will erase me – I will be less than the foam on the waves.
I will be less than the steam that rises from the elk's last breath