If I am any indication,
there is much left to contemplate.
And if that breeds contemplation,
I have little left to indicate.

And while the sun crosses over
its pavilion story,
I face north
and I’m falling,
I face south
and life’s stalling
my inevitable.

If this is any implication
of the lack of the complicate,
I know said complication,
will leave all the more to implicate.