Just Passing Through

I
Across the quiet lattice of uncounted ages
a greater current hums,
not bound to lungs or memory,
but to the drifting architecture
of all things becoming.

Galaxies rearrange themselves
like slow-breathing candles,
illuminating the hidden grammar
of departures and arrivals.
What we call moments

are only brief brushstrokes
on an ever-widening canvas
that refuses to end.

II

Here, echoes of ancestral wonder
mingle with unborn footsteps:
an orchestra of could-have-beens
and yet-to-come certainties
tuning themselves in the folding distance.

Every soul,
whether burdened, lifted, wandering, or still,
moves along this vast inheritance of luminous thresholds.
Even silence participates,
holding its lantern high
for those who listen
to the invisible work of becoming.

III

And when the final tether loosens,
when time’s thin veil drifts aside,
a deeper geography reveals itself,
one without dusk, without direction,
where presence is its own horizon.
Here, passage is merely punctuation,
and the sentence continues
beyond the margins we once believed in.
Continuum gathers us gently,
unhurried, unafraid,
into the widening breath
of whatever waits
 one’s next forever