Freaky Eyes

Serotine

if you could talk to Tomorrow
what would you say
to that lonely siren
in the distance

the next moment sits glowing
like friar’s lantern
flowing from an inlet
a silent intern
without tumult or rumor

a resurrect synthesis
with no ruse and no tryst
the sunsets too distant
to rest over it

before the vision is over
before the window is open
could an ion of will
become premonition

if you could walk this moment
through the bardo to the next
what would your lurking motto be?

what would trickle from you
into the recesses
of Time’s thirsty run
towards the rich urn of the future

would the unrest serotine
of your mind’s eye stretch
across possibility, or will you realize

that what is inside
the light of Time
is the same as what is not

there is only Transformation

(c)Seven, 20071225