The Bubble

A Poem

Three dead ducks,
head stuck in a book.
Dread caught in memory’s branches
falls harmlessly when shook.

Diquiet’s bounding box
tracking forward and back.
Where anxiety’s tremors lie raw
derailing our harmonious path.

Yesterday’s yesterdays
are no infinite history,
knowing we release
what causes our miseries.

Yet tomorrow’s tomorrows
proceed up to our end,
or to us so it seems,
forever condemned.

Dark perpetually turns light
hearted given distance.

We should heed the past knowledge
but we stick with our troubles.
See this moment will fade,
passed over by the bubble.

Dark perpetually turns light
hearted in the distance.

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Dollis Brook, London. 2005. Nikon f810

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