Author: John M. Ford

Cited by

• Jo Walton (1)
  • IN: My Real Children (2014) Fiction, British
    EPIGRAPH: The worm drives helically through the wood And does not know the dust left in the bore Once made the table integral and good; And suddenly the crystal hits the floor. Electrons find their paths in subtle ways, A massless eddy in a trail of smoke; The names of lovers, light of other days Perhaps you will not miss them. That's the joke. The universe winds down. That's how it's made. But memory is everything to lose; Although some of the colors have to fade, Do not believe you'll get the chance to choose. Regret, by definition, comes too late; Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.
    FROM: Sonnets Against Entropy, (2003), Poem, US