Don’t let them fade.
A million seeds, a million more:
the boy-child sown and scattered.
The same big band, the same man’s voice.
I need to learn to look, to gaze, at the pitch
of the passing ‘tween the tunnel’s either end.
Time-warped scraps – the dream continues on,
unphased by the approaching of its limits.
And here I am in that moment,
leafing through the scattered others.