![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtAvCXMytELnCfguG_XWTRwjrNMelrUQjfqPLf57_g2g1FHImAExNygZG3bOhtm0B56Scm7lFDZsf2qvljzGh6dn8Q_BPj-ZQLaMnIhQCTNZquA3H3fe0MvmjIxoag-fVWNSJgIsTA/s400/A-Wash-of-Black-WEB.jpg)
My line is finished
Fallen into the blue storms that wither against
The infinite sphere of God's great Plaything
I can see the stepping stones that twist and fade behind me
Skulls of my mothers that dot the ground, whistling embers of a spent fire
Another is out there, a looming wraith of ticking atoms and useless emotion
Dissipating as she wrings her hands
If not for the tightly woven sinews of helpless genes or blind experience
I would happily embrace her
To the sound of sleeping planets
And falling trees