a river, a book, a stone
where I am from
all but the stones and a few trees are young.
but where I have been,
time, human time, is deep.
you can dive into it,
plumb the depths until your line runs out
with the bottom still beyond reach
fathoms down, millennia.
it’s the dimension
unrecorded in building plans or city maps,
but without it: no building, no city.
it is visible with eyes closed and mind open.
events exist immutable, hidden by time
but revealed in marks scratched into walls,
voices from stone, vellum, parchment and old men,
telling of before and before,
spy holes through time.
I saw an infinity of layered Coliseums
reaching back and back
with the world changing and swarming about them
like a shifting sea split on the prow of a ship at speed.