so i sit spinning a stone in my fingers
my body in rebellion
songs ricocheting around my rib cage
and you say that time isn't linear, but it seems
that all the lines have converged at this point
i am both empty and imploding
alone, sans answers
as the mountain goats bray the mantra
i will make it through the year
i will make it through the year
but i may not still be here by the time the snow
has overstayed its welcome
one way or another, the girl at this convergence will be gone
if i can only find a way across this chasm
for now, i sit in silence and wait for the snow
while the heat surrounds and scorches me
of every bridge i've ever known
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