If the end doesn’t end, what then?
This moment is already contingent.
I dare you to count from one to ten,
To ignore a found dime, even a cent.
Each moment just comes back to us
Like the wind in the tree’s susurrous.
We’ve never been here before to be?
Yesterday and tomorrow are empty.
If I walk around the block every day
The houses never look the same,
Flowers grow and trees disappear,
The sidewalk means don’t lose your way,
Signs say don’t misremember your name,
But nothing guarantees that I am here.
