The Part That Isn't Ending

[DonSchaeffer]

I get to know it.
I mean smears of it
or drops or chunks or
particles of it
spread through time
or make pieces that bump.

Sometimes they seem
to move on their own,
these things. How can I
grasp it? Pressed in lines
they create time.

Lining up in
bits of silence,
bits of vacuum
followed by chunks,

asks, urgings, demands,
summaries of the future.
I wake to it,
not privy to what comes
between in fog or darkness
or dreaming.

When it stops,
maybe it will,
it will not be sleep
and all this
will stop ending.