In the city, distance fades from reality
time is the only mark
of significance. Embryonic shells
cannot shatter the stone of unerring
physicality, but the paths traversed
exist only in the temporality of passage.
I do not understand how anything
exists in consecutive yet separated
spaces. Movement, the province
of time, is illusion. I have
ever stood still, yet time has moved
me across the world and robbed
us of each other.
Perhaps in unrelenting diligence
the stone shatters, and time
will yet repent of her interference.