Winged seeds of mahogany
Spirals in delight of miracle
Free to pulse the beat of earth
Dance to the joyest silence
The moment it breaks from the tree
And floats to the ground
In these two realities
The past
The future
It brims in probable and improbable
Possibilities and impossibilities
Yet in retrospect trace the trail
As was meant to be
A particle in double slit of eternal occurrences
and recurrences
A fractal in infinite loop within and
without
A burden only a Sisyphus could fathom
