Understand this

Or at least try

There are no endings except artificial measures

What is real continues

And what we perpetrate as endings

Sells the real up the river to be hostage

Against our legacy of heaven

If you wrong me

Or conspire to hurt me and I seek to

End with you

Except I know deep within

That the winding thread is still

Unwinding

Clapping my foot on the pedal and winding back the bobbin thread

Does no good

For endings exist like containers

Bowls, drawers, armoires, trunks, file drawers, cabinets, vases, trash buckets, jewel caskets

Adorned and unadorned

Honored and dishonored

Mourned and ignored

All the holding places, all the delimiters, all the declared endings, orderly and messy endings

We but impose to rid ourselves of piercing chaos

Yet that sweet blasted thing, though contained, never leaves the house

And we all exist like containers– resolved and dissolved containers

Relentlessly restless/ yet always bound for home and already there/ in some exquisite realm of never endings