The last thread
The final length
Of cotton
From the bog
Into the unknowing
All apparently known
By those who know
Or thought they did
Passing around
Pebbles
And mortar boards
In a minimalist way
Pushing out
Into the morning mist
On a rowing boat
Of your own making
Settling for
A stillness not yet found
Nor likely to be found
Among the forgetful chaos
