Living As We Do In An Age

If Only There Could Be An Invention That Bottled Up A Memory, Like Scent. And It Never Faded, And It Never Got Stale. And Then, When One Wanted It, The Bottle Could Be Uncorked, And It Would Be Like Living The Moment All Over Again.

He Had The Face Of One Who Walks In His Sleep, And For A Wild Moment The Idea Came To Me That Perhaps He Was Not Normal, Not Altogether Sane. There Were People Who Had Trances, I Had Surely Heard Of Them, And They Followed Strange Laws Of Which We Could Know Nothing, They Obeyed The Tangled Orders Of Their Own Sub-conscious Minds. Perhaps He Was One Of Them, And Here We Were Within Six Feet Of Death.

I Have No Talent For Making New Friends, But Oh Such Genius For Fidelity To Old Ones.

Why, He Wondered, Should He Remember Her Suddenly, On Such A Day, Watching The Rain Falling On The Apple Trees?

We Know One Another. This Is The Present. There Is No Past And No Future. Here I Am Washing My Hands, And The Cracked Mirror Shows Me To Myself, Suspended As It Were, In Time; This Is Me, This Moment Will Not Pass.