Now, a glittering black child’s horse,
Swimming.

When it stops, I stop
Breathing.

I am still waiting
For the right words

To begin
Speaking

Or is this what it means
To not be
human.

I drank the small substance
Until I dropped
Into a shallow sleep-

Less dream. The soldiers
Were not unkind, their bodies

Concealed inside the shadows
Of history.

History, itself,
Concealed within its own
Shadow.

This moment
Is neither now

Nor in the future.
It is both, but also

Something else
Entirely.

Repetition repeats
But also secrets
Something within it,

A substance,
The end

Of all things.
But also

The beginning
Of something

Unfathomable, not yet
Recognizable,

And entirely
Without precedent.