Time begins to run together,
several Olympians spread out.
And in their rushing they ford the same pace,
forge the same face,
until just one runner runs the race...
Thus time runs together.
Its followers cease to worship difference,
for they find none.
The farmer is as his absent crop: absent.
And the river boats between the reeds, empty of its fisherman.

Today is similar to its precursor
we call yesterday.
Tomorrow is just as uninspiring.
I break the legs of completed things
and projects are idle in the sky.
For time runs together
and change does nowhere play its game.
The same living room window holds the same, repeated light.