Ephemeral as rain light, but continuous in form. Each weed loves its place in the garden, before I dig out its roots. Perhaps I knew you but now cannot recognize your shape. Bus bells and train chimes, the clatter of old ferries. Changing animals, changing minerals in the violence of light. How energy breaks a myth into subsections, scatters the juice without smiling or saying a prayer. Is the pattern good? Its recurrence of conversation and music, how it changes the subject to something nobody understands. There was never any control – only physics and memory. Breaks and connects again