Wrapped snugly in its coat of space and time,
the world puts up the hood and runs away,
never showing its face and always one step ahead,
casting us off like loose change as it goes.
But the world doesn’t really move anywhere;
it’s a balloon on a string thrown by a child,
or a boomerang. By the time I worked this out,
it was much too late and I lunged for the world
as if trying to grab the trailing chain
of a dream on waking, but by then it was gone.
Published in Dreich