We walk away from our past

We walk away from our past and memories pile up behind us, blocks and rocks and shards of bright stained glass. The rising-sun light lifts the colours of the memories and lays them flat in front of us, puddling and lakes and oceans toward the future horizon. We stride or stagger forward, ankle deep in colour.

The past wins

The past wins. It is always with us, a squatting, glistening frog, always with us. We cannot outrun it though it does not run. In a B-movie treatment of a nightmare chase, our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no farther from the frog. Every now and again the frog’s wide mouth gapes.

The future is a lizard, green, red belly, flicking away into the distance over sunhot rocks. Every now and again it looks back over its shoulder, dragon smoke curling impatiently around it. Our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no closer to the lizard.

The future is impatient but the frog is always with us. The past wins.