Great cogs turn beneath me.
The people and things around me
rotate toward and away from me,
orrerie of some incalculable gravitational
pull. If we are close - let us be close,
lock teeth.
For some force is already working
against us, pushing on. The morning,
it will come
We will blink, as if we did not expect it,
and us here, in its grip.
We'll dress, frown at our own continuation.