here to drift here to stay
if i may paraphrase
time is not the connector of realities, the universe is
and so the past is a tongue licking another tongue
across millennia
beyond the pull of galactic balance
information exchange through taste and smell
electrons going backwards through time and perhaps
known and unknown to people, speaking to oneanother
in jest in fairy tales and mystical sayings
flowing then through our dwelling places
tickling our dry lake beds with memories of shallow oceans
that one flower petal in a field
who would know if it were different? and the groups are trailing
leaving their truths to sun themselves
your heat gracefully served with multidimensionally entangled honey
milkflowers in a soup dish that stretches longer always but to some eyes appears still and constant
no ceilings, enough room, a cistern of collectivity
behaving similarly with unique immeasurability