In one of the quietest rooms in my mind
There is always a standing column of light
From a bare, open window, scattering gently
Across a gleaming hardwood floor.
I happen into this hidden room
In certain of my dreams, and in between
The scaffolding that offers me
Access to my memories.
The quiet center of a life
May hide behind a turn of mind.
One day perhaps the fish will swim
Among the Lincoln Monument,
Recalling through ancestral blood
The petals in the rose garden.
The wheel turns and the cotton spins—
Words become threads
With which to weave
A net to catch our Being in.
Time is like a two-way mirror—
We are there and also here.
Quick as an inhale, the moment arrives
When we feel time’s sickle
Slice straight through our middle,
Dividing the timeline to before and after.
The basement is stocked for a nuclear winter
But I have nothing to eat for dinner.
Now is not a legal fiction, easily traded for Then.
Tomorrow dwells inside the palace of the imagination.
