it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The pulse of things is stopping
If you can hear the sound between
The roar - both grandiose and mean
As though listening to the sea is dropping
A coin into a well as deep as the moon
Is far - wishing on the sound, a boon;
Cleft somewhere in the abyss of twain
As narrow as the edge of a dime
As the present is to the eye of time --
With a song sweet as medicine in refrain
And a noise that has no pattern at all
A beat, slight, might be heard to fall
Utterly unheard, but felt in some way
Is its sound real or but a wish failing
A request made by those dead and ailing
A hope against all hope - so then I say
This rhythm -- but our heartbeat dropping
The pulse of things is stopping.

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