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Time has ceased here,
in an unquiet way;
There is no past,
but there is no future,
Presence but no present.
An anarchy of Time;
beyond dreaming,
But a dream's foundation.
"Tomorrow I will be remembered";
a bird hovers:
In the tall grass something moves
A wind brushes light and shadow
through the long hair of the meadow,
Still wet underneath
And rich in webs and industry.
Down the stream flashes blue green thought;
Tangling wire hums so gently in the wake of wind and water,
Time stands still
And gathers:
Past, like flowers,
Then and next,
and now:
Time roars.
The warm headless body of a mouse falls from the sky
and hits the ground.