The end is alive.
Not I.
I try.
I close my eyes,
the end is alive.
I know and I try.
I try to keep something behind.
Is this what we are?
Infinite.
An infinite arc of image and sound
repeating (repeating) our grandfather's art.
Curating, but never to take part.
Is this what we are?
Oxygen!
Gravity!
I close my eyes and see a world
that hasn't heard
a single word.
Is this what we are?