It's time to make the world again
How could it be that this world keeps on
With its roaming
Its lostness
Its sweetness
Its cruelty
Its little loves
Its big dramas
Its actual flowers flowering
Its potential flowers failing to flower
Its generations of beautiful youths pouring toward decay and isolation
Its rivers of confusion wider than lifetimes
Its masterful infantile gelatin that binds days
Its echoes of long drowned rituals
Its web of destinations as broad and inflamed as the visible stars
Its entities
Its connections
Its unity
How can it be?