the one river
by the one mountain
which resembles the wound
the one grievance grown up
that no one can climb

one mushroom
on the last tree
breathing one leaf
on the one branch extended
for anyone who will notice it

you drive down the street
with one gallon left
go to the only bar in town
find one stool, have one beer
meet the one person 

who will listen with one ear
tilted to your only secret
the same repeated season
which is also your sole
excuse for living this one life

singular song of praise and lament
so many tones rolled into one
note for your final night
one fork and one knife
lying side by side on the table