Tipping Point Reservoir

On long enough timescales, most
Real-world systems are like this
Long skein of loosely gathered

Verse (call it text if you like,
Whatever name it deserves),
Accumulating slowly,

Not always regularly,
But more steadily than not,
With the influx of fresh words,

Phrases, lines, stanzas, titles,
The pattern of change changing little
From one day to the next, growth.

Someday, this will abruptly
Grind to a halt. Other texts
Elsewhere will go on growing,

But this will not. This will stop,
Since the metabolism,
The historical hot spring,

Folds up and shuts down, or since
This reaches its tipping point.
Not another line, or else.

Up at the small reservoir,
Recent rains have eased the drought.
A few waves shift connections

In a thin surface layer.
Once a future’s happening,
It evolves by different rules.

That is to say it has none.
Still, there’s an algorithm
That can predict when it’s done,

When this dam will break, or when
The reservoir will never
Rise to fill itself again.

Crave that algorithm?
Careful children. Madness lurks
In hysteretic visions.

Once you’re sure you see the end
Of any dispensation,
Some end’s made its decision.