Propagation

Robin Ford, June 2018

The flow of time around, above, below;
Mysterious fluctuations in the stream.
It’s life’s expression, and I hardly know
If dreams are formed by life, or life’s a dream.
My memories I store as best I may —
Yet there are many ways to draw a line
Through what I have recorded in my way,
(And other ways might be as good as mine).
I stop and turn and rest and see how time
Has brought me to the place where I am now.
Within the randomness, I see that I’m
A patch of order, kept I know not how.
When it can hold no more, and form has gone;
Mysterious sets of ripples carry on.