A week ago today, I travelled through –
for to meet with then when the future’d reached –
time, ‘long its riverrun ‘n deltaward,
obliv’yus to the moments carried out
to past’s vast sea of somnamb’listic life
that’s left to wonder in its mirage made
of wand’ring memory in wisps of cloud.
Masks;
pen upon a board
(My name in red!);
lights, looming latent…
I switch from now to then; from then to now.
Hours (Three.) ‘n minutes (Thirty (Roughly…).)
which occurred not within my sens’ry life;
metres (Maybe around a hundred?) that
weren’t travelled, e’en in th’sleep of day or night:
not imperceptible but untranspired!
The briefest black to stitch the moment… Scarred’s
the neat chronology of mem’ry, told
to me by me through th’mind’s prolific bard.
And though there’ve been seven days, now, which’ve passed,
each was divided by a void whose hues
made, in their dance of firing, neural song,
perceptible future’s presentward moves.
That briefest black had neither song nor dance!
Yet, o’er its spaceless, timeless, courseless, hueless non-expanse,
I travelled through…
Image credit – Discover Magazine
william altoft 