We make the time pass.

See, the devices
laid out on the long tables,
such ingenuity.

This is the wave offering,
this the heave offering.

Waves
of earth passing
over you, into history.

You cling to the branch
the self offers.

It is slender. It is fragile.
Birds
flee from it
when you interrupt them
with your grasping
hands.

Children
die here, you know.
This is their only world.