Epsilon

Between midnight and morning
When the dust has settled
And yet there are sounds
Of new beginnings
A pen makes autocorrelated patterns
On old forgotten about parchments
Freshly found from the bottom of my drawer

There is much inside
The center cannot hold
Dissipating fragments of evanescent memories
And yet there is so little
That the mind wanders to create ceaseless futures
Parallels in a world
Where we much choose a single straight line

Between yesterday and tomorrow
Is the sound of my nib on paper
Conveying the idea of epsilon
In a world of Continuous Time

I stand my ground
In a moving world
Clinging onto little rocks of past
Hoping they fit inside
My suitcase.