deep in the middle of the explanation
I sensed a frightening abyss

If I stepped in that direction
my guts would come up in my throat
I would fall, circling more rapidly with every repetition

There would be no end but rather we would end
without an ending in endless contemplation of the horror of a job not well done,
our sensibilities torn by the clawlike stripes marching crossgrain to the planks

Surely, I thought
there is a direction to be taken,
a move that could be made, an attitudinal inversion to restore the feeling of a balance that in fact had not ceased to be there

Surely, I thought,
somewhere in this dark there is a dime to get off
surely a possibility of a salvational goal to be striven towards lowly and slowly in the full slowness of the normal passage of time

It could be felt and concepted
but it could not be seen, spoken,
the hope I mean, but not discussed, awaited, for surely it would arrive, smooth, regular, ordinary, sealed, the splinters removed, the rough edges smoothed, the sun reflecting from the perfect flowing grain, the heat warming the clenched soul, the light inducing the potted plants to think about blooming, attracting the attractables, settling the settleables, elevating the despondent, linearly liberating the rut-stuck, regularly and ordinarily providing the elevation some need or think they need, or worse yet, think they somehow deserve, the deserving deservers, those deserving deservers, not different from those others, shivering behind that corner over there

a few million seconds
a few million years
it will be all right