Too Late



A world upended –

oh, how the mighty are fallen! –

will crash at the slightest touch,

the simplest negation of a nod. How


did her sphere of influence

shrink so small? How came this

significance unsignified? No

neurons carved integrated


pathways, nor relational

infrastructure; all looked

inward, mirror to a tiny

galaxy. Too, too late for

microcosm to expand at the

speed of living’s light; too, too

root-bound to escape the pot.

When molecule drops,


so will all expectations

into the river of the forgotten,

the scum to earthen pond’s

hoary crust of the damned.