There are certain
recollections
reflections of time, past
the way of seeing,
like the congruency of
an orrery, the possibilities
obliged to the fruit
of all my labors
marked in each
moment passing in predation,
like a compendium of ifs
adjacent to the fall
of my heart
unearthed
by the echoes of regret
in decibels of
callous modernity –
this universe of fog and
inquiry causes me
to stop, take pause –
and it is in this second
where re-cognition begins
as the daylight flailing
in a long day’s reckoning

© K. James Ribble