The past – glimpses –
righting the leftward swerve of time,
and as it shifts further right (or left depending on which side of the sun you stand), those snatches film the barrier, and there is little evidence of the present.
You look in this corner of deliverance, but all you get are formalities: pasts, presents and futures linked together by a paltry performance put up by wedding physics to geometry in a hurry (Pythagoras and Newton whisper sweet nothings). The past is no more, and the poetic now gives an adolescent glimpse into the archaic ruins of what is yet to be born.
(Nilaveli, Sri Lanka; August 8 2013)