I would have stood for memories
if memories would will it.
Memories would not. They flew
from every stronghold
and immediacy staked its claims—
in featherdusting wind, in watercolored name,
in waves of genotype. Ungovernable
polymorph, the flow was disinclined
to be revised, or be reduced—could not be boxed,
could not be kept, for carrying to other
spots in time (posterities to go, or
merriments to come). One step and we
went meters; seven more, and we became
pure haste: fastheaded, leaving all
steadfastnesses behind, all tendencies
of centuries toward
the halted hallways, marble men.