BathtuB tSunaMi

The leaves of the calendar litter the floor and things restart anew.

At the tail of old life, the new-born mouth gapes and swallows what has been.  It feeds off the easily gathered, what is within its comprehension, within its environmental reach, blinded by the immediately seen and what will never be seen, by what has been learned and what is believed to be.

Waves of external force crash down, plunging surety asunder.