A quarter past noon and the saints
Of Pine Valley are still in church.
The warmth says early October.
The low sun and completely bare
Branches shine early November.
Six rainless months of powdered dust,
Ankle deep right next to the creek,
Puff up at every step, Never!
Think of a time-slip story,
Like Tom’s Midnight Garden, or
Time and Again, or Bid Time
Return, or Time After Time,
Or The Time Traveler’s Wife.
Think of the ones where you just
Fool yourself into thinking
The past is all around you
In these period details,
These fixtures of a lost world. . . .
Presto! You’re back in the past.
Look at you, almost passing
For native in this era,
As if you were not the ghost
Of the future never yet.