Here

Photo by Marco Molitor on Unsplash

Here where the waves smash against the end of time:
Whipped cream on the black sea, jewel drops flying
and falling back, the breathing of the world,
still constant.

Here is a tumult and a confusion.
Here is a silence.

Here are birds, noisily occupied, and blank-minded seals.

Here at the end of time the sun slants crooked,
drawing black shadows onto its chalkboard while it waits
and dips and returns, around and around.
Here is where green fronds grow from grey caves, and
lichen spreads its fingers.

Here is the surface of things, and the neutral nothing below.
Here is continuation.
Here is the safety of indifference.