It’s a queer notion to consider;
the spaces in between nanoseconds
& light years dipping slyly
below the horizon line of memory.
But it’s fictions of the mind that flatter.
They bloat my cranium as I trace small
steps in retrograde until I arrive back
where I started—back at the beginning.
That’s the place where I remember
silhouettes; the flickering stasis of
another dimly lit afternoon—one that
teetered at the edge of time with the
scent of scotch mist and seventeen.
©️Orion Foote, 2021
Visions of Orion Poetry 