Monday, January 16, 2012


Going back against the current,
going East through a January storm
up over dams of convenience
around the edges of a sunken
hulk of time and space,
to study, stunned, thousands
of flying red lights flashing
in the icy puddles. Nothing
has stopped for us, the alien travelers.
The old is paved over, a once certitude
has spawned its all and faded away.
Survival tricks, grasped as gold,
now melted and lost down the gullies.
We go anyway, if only to see again 
those so loved, now in shy glimpses
somehow, some part, still the same.

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