Today will be about losing words.  It

will be about verses falling apart, without

music or fanfare.

 

Nothing will rhyme.  Nothing will be

described as it really is, because all

we have is speculation.

 

Outside, from a great height, far

higher than the gulf stream, all that was

ever written will fall apart.

 

Even the names of those we know will

be taken up in the wind of anonymity,

becoming soundless

 

as verse by verse, their bones become

one with the earth.

 

(c) Ella Wagemakers, 17.34 Dutch time (= 11.34 EST in the US)