Dream enfolding, holding, absent embrace,
Wisps drifting, anchor free, nowhere, everywhere,
Inchoate, unbegun, potentiate,
Infinite portals pending, past, and present,
Multiple, multi-threaded, multiversed,
No time to wait, no time at all;
Time was not, never had been
And never would be,
In space that held her
In its formless, soft, silken, ethereal embrace.
A ripple, disturbance, a moment in future past,
One heavy lidded eye lifted, pupil, dilated,
An image of the future, a man from the past,
A rhyme infused it all.
Limbs twitched, muscle memory, time twinge,
Pain long since past, yet to come, if at all.
And yet she willed it so.
Threads unwrapped, unravelled, time touched,
Troubled the fabric of the Dream,
And pierced that sacred endless place,
And in the vision painted on that
Canvas crowded with Empty Space
A river bank, man prone beneath a morning sun,
Trees swaying in the gentle summer breeze,
A mind that sang her wake, awake, a fate foretold,
No longer past, yet still not sure to be.
Beside her supine canine forms,
Etched from the ether, taking form,
And distant music began to skirl,
Whilst on the river bank,
The Poet paused, hand held to hold
The Summons from his men,
“Thomas, Thomas,” they called,
But it was not that summons that he heard.