This poem may be a little too influenced by the fact that I'm reading Edgar Allan Poe, but here is my answer to that eternal question--
Maybe--
in the end--
it is a river.
Why else are we
patterned in cycles?
Swept up
in evaporation
the you and I
becoming
indiscernible boundaries
joined together in heat
and in coolness.
Maybe--
in the beginning--
a pool was formed
by countless
indiscernible contributions.
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