How is it to wander through the inner workings of the universe?
Whom should I ask about the order of time?
Is it the steadfast oak who collects rings of time,
watching on undeterred by the most violent of storms?
Or perhaps, it is the unrelenting, cyclical flow of water,
patient in its weathering of entire coastal landscapes –
It is everywhere and nowhere on this vast earthly expanse,
and never for a second wondering where is home?
Should I take a seat in front of the Mirror Erised demanding a vision of the future,
simply because I am as fearful and vulnerable as a child,
whose entire reality rests upon the present moment.
Or should I become one and the same as the pines,
who have no choice but to rise with dignity each day,
regardless of humanity’s fate.
I know this much.
Aside from arbitrary measurements: day and night,
Love and loss, months on months,
when the wandering mind looks upon the starry expanse,
as many scholars have done before,
that thing we call time is felt when it ceases to exist altogether.