I went to the world’s end.

From that promontory stretches the neverness, where the world is not, and no thing of the world inhabits it. No stars mar the blank skies, no colors tinge the horizon. No grass flows under no wind. The air is thin and does not echo.

I threw rocks at it, picked from the jagged dirt clumped under the sidewalk. They tumbled in and tumbled and quickly disappeared.

No thing added to the end remained in it. It might roll back out or clump under the sidewalk. Debris was known to appear in cabinets in the houses lining that final suburb of existence. Where my rocks would appear finally was a mystery.

All the words I spent on it landed here.