Under heavens christened “Heraclitus” how dare we think that we can stay the same? Our heads, never in the one river twice, wade like anchors into the weather’s change. We sink unmoved beneath the constant flow— this our denied crime, our epochal shame; thus perishes the thought of what we know and the good end at which our hearts take aim. We drown in crises without precedent, as others did when earlier they came; we forget we find forgetting pleasant then enjoy remembering it again. We resist. We refuse. We stick in mud and watch amazed our stuckness swell the flood.