An Inconsequential Consequence Is Still Some Kind of Consequence

It follows a curve—
In the aftermath,
Accounts are jumbled

And come from all sorts
Of people, classes,
Winners and losers,

But as time goes on
The accounts focus
More and more tightly

On the great leaders
Of tragic events,
Poetic, condensed—

And then the curve bends,
Reaching down again,
This time for stories

From the marginal,
Wayside witnesses
To the terrible

And banal movements
Of the tragedy.
Does the curve ever

Dissipate wholly
To null, forgotten?
Forgotten maybe,

But still light traces
To the infinite
Tail of consequence.