any hesitation has been drowned
in early shade;
anywhere you look, all life
has begun
to uncomplicate.
All feel
the centripetal pull—
irresistible
as the center of a
famished black hole—
from clock hands
that whir toward
their end time, invisible.
Some can even hear it:
that imperative
of the thinning air
daring them
to carry their coherence
for much longer.
While the deaf
are unceremoniously stretched
and bent, squeezed and rent
of even their unutterable
concept
of halcyon.
