Clinging to colonnades,
fading into false porticos,
beneath awnings and aluminum struts,
caught in the mouths of blunt stone gargoyles,
even lodged in the flat facades of Bauhaus elevation,
the moment past remains.
Laugh across this pond
elastic and infinitely tangible,
our coincidence and dwelling place,
and a tumbleweed in the Andromeda Nebula,
unleashed by the concatenation of matter's sticky ways,
begins to turn.
Streaming to the sky and back
our universe is so much synergy rampant,
an unbridled rush of ongoing echo and reflection,
the architectonic singularity of a house built for all,
the moment past passed on until it plays its progressions
round again.
Appeared in Asimov's SF Magazine
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