POEM: Land’s End

Land ends in a wall of fog.

If you were told it was the

end of the universe, you

could not prove otherwise.

It glides up to the cliffside.

Stealing sight. Silent theft.

Ears ring. Seeking sounds.

Mind searches sensation.

Senses wet cotton dulled.

Solitude sweeps over one.

What would happen if one

stuck one’s arm inside the

fog? Would it expand into

infinity?  Or disintegrate

into a lawless zone free of

 mathematical certainty?