This is called "Continuous Until We Stop."
"But when I came to what I'd been
told was the zone of tragedy, transition, it was not that.
Was a wildering field, across it the light steadily lessening,
and the tall grasses, waving, deepened
their colors, blue-green or a greenish blue,
hard to tell, exactly.
Was like when the body surrenders
to risk, that moment when an unwillingness to refuse
can seem no different from an inability to,
though they are not the same.
Inability, unwillingness.
To have said otherwise doesn't make it true,
or even make it count as true.
Yes, but what does the truth matter now?
I whispered, stepping further inside what, by then, was night
almost.
The tamer animals would soon lie down again,
and the wild go free."