The making of me, Weak little parts that were stuck Together with glue, Fails now because it’s cold and I’m slowly peeling apart.
Into my minds eye A knot of momentary Moments yet and had.
Faces, interlocked now,Like Janus, peering into futureAnd the past, simultaneously.
Dust shifting away, Receding from nakedness framing A more ancient face.
Down to desert, A mystery swirling In parallel.
There, pushing pastPyramids, pillars and tombs,The midnight blue Nile.
Ahead, a whole land,Not broken nor divide,Not Twain nor split.
Behind me, many Routes, twisting through the mist To southern mellow morns.
Converging, Emerging into surging, Then, diverging.
Searching eyes scratch The ocean-scape ships fog bound In banks and barriers.