We fuss so much about the ends of things

            Because we know

            They’re just beginnings in disguise

 

            They may be over when they’re over,

            Like their origins,

            But no more or less

            Than what’s to come

 

            How we pride ourselves on

            Drawing lines,

            Erecting walls, or empires,

            In sand!

 

            Yet from a distance

            Our inspired partitions,

            Like our kisses,

            Are insensible