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Not Near The End, But

Alive, a human
being breathes

in air and dirt, brings
with life a sense

of lifelessness, motion
might direct the aim

of a year, the days
calculated until

they calculate us.
To have built

anything should
be enough, but if

crumbling away
means something

more, then so be it,
and so believe it.

Each storm creates
a passageway

for burden. My
glass of water, invisible,

falls from the counter,
a nice place

for a narrative to intend.

Adam Clay is the author of A Hotel Lobby at the Edge of the World (Milkweed Editions, 2012) and The Wash (Parlor Press, 2006). A third book of poems, Stranger, is forthcoming from Milkweed Editions. He co-edits TYPO Magazine and lives in Kentucky.