A Question of Time.

As if the day, were that once before day,

Eternal day, or just that first, human day,

Could be this day more than but erased

Until now & this memory mere nostalgia.

Indeed that day was but human, as now, a

Question of time, look backwards, it’s said.

Count the light years, whilst predicated dead,

Multiply into eternal multiple diversity,

Variety, assortment, many-ness, plurality.

& this day so fresh & new, what of its fate?

Day of air & mist, of brick & broken bucket

At the gate, a winding blue polythene sheet,

A door swung on a hinge, a whitewashed wall,

Is time, naked, a shadow, does it fall, or, not all?