Waves

BEGINING, none that I perceive; where that dot in time where the dot or seed, where the trigger and the stripey tiger that leaps ahead of itself? Then the linear sprouting’s along an arrowing line see how they are mine yours are invisible, you must follow your own thread. TIME_______________ was there really a backwards was there ever a forward? What small rodent nibbles this moment? An imaginatively decorated string, an intricately sewn long-bone that has walked you. everywhere but here. ENDINGS\\\! The crunch is staggered, vaguely certain. Some call it a pause, some, a full-stop. All ‘what ifs’ are handicapped by reason and chance. Believe it or not we must let go of our legbones, leave and relieve ourself of so many of those good things that have danced us down blind alleys, backed us up beeping like empty trucks. Though the end be a may be (maybe) it is always shrouded in hope, for the end will begin again somewhere - anywhere it must surely be further than a pointing finger and that could be an END or another barrel of swimming fish, all dreaming of larger WAVES.