Our arrival is gradual, discreet,
but we’re certain, as certain
as six and seven make thirteen.

The hour doubles itself, heightens
as we drive past, ever smug
and rounding up silences.

We’re severe, as complete
as six and two make zero.
We don’t have promises or feet.

When we come, it is for always.
We arrive fully stocked.
Don’t talk. Don’t be. Don’t try it.