The end of time is today, under the margins of hours
and factual things that pile in the living room;
the path, splintered in half, has deepened in a sharp turn,
foliage frolics its sycamore brawl,
erratic rain discontinues
things that pile in half,
I have deepened in the margins of time
rivulets disguised as gracious grief, succinct in melody,
this second heavenly stem, to enumerate
the gill bone of a developing plant
would mean erratic rain discontinues
things that pile in the living room;