terminal

You think this is the end, this is not the end, if it ends, it ends

where it begins: here, now, before sight, before sound—

a confession of minds and mouths, each to each, back to back; an enumeration stern and loud, bar by bar, pound by pound,

of loves that sink like gold
in the ocean of shades,
and of hopes that rise like clouds
among those who wait
to be found, hang on

to this here now I say unto you:
the world ends where it begins, only we are infinite.

Khôi