Every living form must weaken, decompose and even die in some distant season — but I am oesophagal fires burning, Heliobacter pylori worming into its epithelial eden. I am disembodied yearning, that which forms the zygote-people from disseminated semen. Fallen leaves and risen mud may commerge on unsown sod. Continents will surge and drift, coastal shelves can always deepen: for what reason, causal chains of stood-fast, universal laws? I (and my léger de main)? Superannuated scam? You have gone now. And for good?