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
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