Time’s arrow
Shows up in our equations, you see
That singular point
From which all moments, motion, unfurled
Has to lie in the Past

But the Heart of Servia
Lies pulsing on the chopper’s block
Since it was wrenched, centuries ago
At the Field of Crows

And then, not so long ago
A trap door was jimmied
A searing wind blew in
And hulking guys in uniforms
Sparing no fury
Went on a bloody spree

As the gentle, mustachiod, long-haired elder
Once joked in his guttural tones
It’s all relative, you know
In the company of a pretty girl
An hour is a moment
While sitting on a hot stove
A moment is
But an unbearable hour

But deep within, it’s just a fishnet
Tangled on itself
And each one of its strands
Is an unreal flicker

But oh, this matters
As we vault over to times
When you weren’t you
And I wasn’t I