a wail has its whispering

What man of us has never felt, walking through the twilight or writing down a date from his past, that he has lost something infinite? —Jorge Luis Borges

On the bank at the end
Of what was there before us
Gazing over to the other side
On what we can become
Veiled in the mist of naïve speculation
We are busy here preparing
Rafts to carry us across
Before the light goes out leaving us
In the eternal night of could-have-been
—nick bostrom

in the you of you

believe-in-youafter all, we are each put through caldron

will you never thunder?

will you never ache?

will you shrink and retreat?

will you burn and wither?

you are not to walk away from you, say it,

and all the angels hear