Moments

Paper lanterns carrying spirits of the dead Wind their way toward the Sea of Japan; A procession bearing its own light, Silently, to a destination without moments. Moments, the interface through which life flows From now to then, are put back like old videos To be on recall; the deeper the collection, The more likely reruns become loops. A sign above the bar promises, “Free beer tomorrow”. Tomorrow, alas, never a moment, but a construct Residing near yesterday, is as misunderstood as The Hookers of Kew; pressing, mounting. Copyright 2021, Paul Thomson