If the world doesn’t end, if geography doesn’t end, if ends don’t split, if winter doesn’t end, if Philadelphia doesn’t end, if New York City doesn’t end, if San Francisco doesn’t end, if grammar doesn’t end, if technology doesn’t end everything, if everything doesn’t end, if literacy doesn’t end, we will continue to beget, we will continue to continue.

We are birds in the birdcage, we are foxes in the foxhole. If birds don’t end, if foxes don’t end—

Grow weary of the calendar and go home, if the calendar speaks to you. If the moons don’t end, if orbits don’t end, if eventide never ends, we are already home, already here.

Fly the plane and crashland into the softest forest bed and make home. If home doesn’t end, if here doesn’t end, if sleep doesn’t end, if waking doesn’t end, we will blur the edges and forget ourselves, if forgetting doesn’t end and we remember and the light lets us remember.