Yesterday time gulped back on itself,

this existence a beautiful nothing amongst endless

somethings.

Hearing my mother speak for the first time;

The voice of a friend long dead and gone returning

after decades.

Wind of another eon rose up, up,

rose up tickling the inside of my ears, neck, head,

vibration forgotten here, forgotten and now remembered–

How to find my way back? No.

Not back.

How to usher forth life from there,

origin of all creation

humming harmonious,

honey of blossoms never seen

but felt and heard.

Honey flowing slow, slowly, from cracks

in ancient enormity of stone.