For now

I know not what it must take
to water like eyelids
and a river to make time
straying and floating
in nameless moments.

Unnamed nomad waves
that ride on night’s wings
and flow into noiseless swamps
of everbrown lost earth.

That was walked upon
sometime by the spokes of
this spinning past
when the present was far off.
Yet and yet…
The night and
the day
all came upon
sudden
like the hurried crash of water
on unsure rocks
carrying pebbles and mud.

It was for nothing then that I dreamt
It is for nothing then that I dream
only a turning head and that is all.