Thin Film

So little stands between
        this world and the next.
Between life and death.

We are all born
with a sheer caul of nature.
Wispy, it clings to our faces,
        holding us together.
Clean, clear, light, and undemanding.

As we age, the wispy folds
        begin to gray.
The tissue thins
    and slowly deteriorates.
We step into the next level
        of existence.

Or more harshly, a sudden
accident or quickly moving disease
    rips the caul from our face.
Torn abruptly from this world,
        we cross to the next.

        Oh caul,
    keep me safe.
Be strong and fibrous yet
    for many a year.