All Only Grew from Nothing, Given There’s Nothing to Use Up

Briskly sweeping conclusions
Into tidy heaps the wind
Scatters all around again,

Nothing’s left us—it’s all fresh
Creation piling up fast.
Now was something happened once

And again to the past, but
There was never anything
Left to make mess from the start—

Meanwhile, everything’s sweeping
Dusty stuff under the rug’s
Infinite patterns and parts.

Don’t ask what’s left to expend.
Ask how much more you can add.
Don’t want anymore? Too bad.