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 —
If the houses never look the same —
If flowers grow and trees disappear —
The sidewalk means don’t lose your way.
“If” says don’t misremember your name,
Though nothing guarantees that I am here.
