echoes

voices through the hill country

are cups full of dice

yes

we’ll wait for the settling

the shortest path from rallying cry

to capitulation

is trod to the mantle

in the belly a trembling

overridden

in the pattern a pattern

we imagine echoes of ourselves

and people with us

but we dwell

as tidepool phantoms

beside a vast mute sea

it is brief the echo moment

and then where the moment was

it isn’t

almost immediately

the moment isn’t there

it unhappens

and stops asking

for more moments

or I think it does

if you time things right

you experience the wave

if you don’t it’s all particles