The Year Without a Summer

Black holes, dark energy,
And apparent expansion
Notwithstanding, it's one
Homeostatic universe

We're caught in. Time
Does not adjust its rate
Of callous and opportune events.
It returns us to the mean.

Terrible things feel endish,
But humble ends are all
One ever experienced.
Even the pyroclastic flow,

The sulphuric clouds of choking
Ash only snuffed out one
World at a go from the view
Of any one world. We are

The conscience of a detailed
Confabulation whispering
To itself in one corner of itself
Before it rolls over, back to sleep.