Fold

I await revelation,

but the time neither flies nor crawls,

displacing objects mundanely

without the desperate realness of drama;

and the revelation does not come.

Television programmes die.

Inexorably, indiscernibly, my mind

Folds in on itself, my last thought

Urging my body to follow suit, pack up, furl,

Reveal itself only to the strongest will, the keenest eye.