There is an end to everything

And it is to that as men

Which we are drawn

The ocean’s edge

Thrills us

A sharpened knife to the palm of the hand

Its blackness though

Its deep middle darkness

Is the terrifying oblivion of origins

            All too much of one thing to bear

Men want the end

Crave the thing becoming the other

Blue sky to slate sea

Find us where we live

            On the perfect, unreachable horizon