The weight of the ocean floor
Pulls at your bones. Bees sing
In your ear canal. We now live
In a time of smoldering wicks.
Things, undefined, come to
A close. The threshold is never
Crossed; they sink away, and
Life becomes a gradient.
A letter is pressed to paper
Again, again, it is grown pale.
Even in type, things turn quiet,
But not silent. All things, always
Undefined, fade, but not away.