When I move, the multiverse
Crumbles to the floor like
Snow falling through a darkening
Forest. I leave it behind in wake. A
Mirror with the reflection of god
Shatters—and we are born. Some
Vastly small burst of energy sitting
Down, beside a candle. Every moment
The substance of existence is washed
Against the shores of the mind. Sea
Birds swirl too in slanting rain. Christmas
In New Mexico now, snow falling on mesas
Outside of me, in the darkness and silence.
And why is the future so enthusiastically
Demanding, at all times, to be consumed?