Member Poem

We thought we knew where we were going.
Heading east, we said,
not west.

We thought to chase the rising sun
and being young,
in present tense,      
we ran in opposition
to the western shadow lengthening;
pulling black behind us,
trailing ignorance.

In time, Sophia cast herself
across our narrow path,
sewing pearls to silver ribbons
to reflect
the setting sun.

She wondered would we learn
to braid our days with iridescence,
considering the endless pebbles
birthing underfoot

or would we disregard ephemera,
refusing eyes the sense
to see how time and tense collide
in every tick-tock trickling
of pulse.