And the lonely will be left to their worry.
And things will go mostly as they’ve gone.
And the sea will never, but never, become the sky.
And no one will locate the horizon.

And someone will find another answer, another question,
and die wise, and then be disproven.
Some will wander so entirely away they leave us
wondering if nothingness is not something else—

the way they inhabit the mind, not the memory.
And someone will be newly seized by the sense
all our words are false, seeing how the real becomes
only itself. And someone who hadn’t felt human

will hear an old tune that renews that old pain.
Someone will begin again. Someone else will begin.