We make the time pass.

See, the devices laid out on the long tables, such ingenuity.

This is the wave offering, this the heave offering.

Waves of earth passing over you, into history.

You cling to the branch the self offers.

It is slender. It is fragile. Birds flee from it when you interrupt them with your grasping hands.

Children die here, you know. This is their only world.