There are times and places
where there shadows forth
hints of what is beyond -
or below -
or before -
We sometimes catch a glimpse,
a shadowed form,
a scuttling shape -
more often it is a sense of menace, watchfulness -
the cruel will,
of anger or pain,
or just sadness, loss, or loneliness,
sharp enough to pierce the layers of time
that separates then from now.
Moments are meant to be stacked,
one upon the other,
sensible and safe.
Each instant should be solid,
like a window through which you can look
but never touch.
But when the curtain is rent,
the glass shattered,
and something comes through
to touch us with its cold fingers -
we struggle to shut the window again,
to deny that such a breach can happen.
For we know that past and present
are forever separate,
that what is gone
can never come back.
We know this.
Don't we?
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