They roll in seamless waves
Across time’s formless shore
To seal in mystic graves
The echo of their roar
Hope, fear, anguish and awe
In passion-pulses weep
From future to our fingertips
To past’s unfathomed deep
Within the dead of night
They do not still their rush
And on the hinge of morning light
They shape its virgin blush
Against this obscure scope
We place desire’s fruit
Our sorrow and our hope
Both wickedness and good
Like flakes of melting snow
Its soundless storms descend
Perpetual moment-flow
Without beginning or end
We live and laugh and love
As to our lips they’re flung
Vertigo from vaults above
To glance upon our tongue
Simultaneous stream
Of future, present, past
In moment-morsels gleam
As history seals them fast
© Janet Martin
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