sent skyward from the same river
a common cloud carried us
till falling, our droplets hit a divide.
you raced west while i meandered east.
moving into a trajectory of possibility, we created past.

the past exists in the being here now;
the becoming that being now calls to reality.
the future is a dandelion blown into the wind,
times appearing in the swirl of the filaments,
dis-placement placed by the rush of appearances.

this windward trajectory moves me toward a memory

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