The period hasn’t been invented yet.
Scribes in Greece went back the
opposite direction reaching the end
as a tiller would at the end of each
furrow, weaving across the tablet
until it or the thought was used up.
Poems referred in all directions.
What caused us to stop. Some big
bump on a road paved with words.
Beautiful words but not immortal.
What a cicada tells you he only
tells fully when he stops sounding.
Winter before you know it. Period.