the sun plays on the street today

as it played on the streets of Atlantis

or Egypt or Rome or any place or time

in the world--

its mortality measured in numbers so infinite

pi is but a clearing of the numerical throat--

numbers trailing off into the infinity of God

that here is a late afternoon sheen on the building facades

of this mid-winter day--

and all memory is fate recorded

infinite in each head and each head's dream

and in the infinity that holds each dream each fate each memory--

long deep thoughts for a moment in time that will pass

into each other moment--each an illusion of space and motion

in the instant in which we subsist--

long deep thoughts for an afternoon of dread

and of optimism--entwined in one consciousness

and as still and centered as the calm that for a moment

is our being in the cold declining sun...

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.