of the narrative if the commentator
becomes susceptible to this malady.
We live in fear of being forced
to tell our stories under conditions
not best for remembering them.
It's a systemic emotion bred
and ritualized into us over the course
of many subsequent generations.
There arrives a point where the terror
no longer registers anymore and so here
it comes triggered weakly within.
So that the detonation of silence
opens a clustering sky for a garden
from which to hang tears individually.
I don't think it's possible for the story
to have ended, really, not here
today, nor there tomorrow.
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