I could swear there’s someone following me I turn… I see:
It’s just a time shadow stretching out behind me an ever-narrowing river of former instants crawling back to that dark distant time.
Hallucinagenic echoes of spatial form rippling and gurgling quietly pursuing their ever-escaping spring not quite there, not quite not.
When I am here where do the former occupants go? When I move on what happens to the me I left behind?
In a panic I scramble to preserve
With photos and mutual experience but film fades and friends fail even pyramids are of no avail but one thing shall always survive —
Reality itself and the impact it has on those that take the time to reach in and touch it.
(the fantastic glow creating a shadow of permanence in the river, flowing it’s direction always showing the way we’re going).