the old man withered
rattling within his meat sack
dragging foot in front of foot
lurching his body forward

(what consciousness energizes thusly)

bottle of cider in his hand
staggering along
the railway tracks
paper bag
crinkled from the top

and he beheld the sky
clouds wreathing mountains high
guarding the snow above
from the greenery of the valley below

ripples in the lake
mountains racing towards each other
ending in a V
airs betwixt
reflected in the waters as -V
revealing the futures past
twisting with the future fates

and all of it was meaningless
for it had come and passed before
as surely as it would happen again

fifth dimensional rider gods
were absent on that day
no amount of tinder dry
would strike a fire within the damp

he met a wildman on the way home
yelled an extra-dimensional salute of his name
and the wildman was terrified
jumped back
exclaimed
“do not speak to me this way!”

and onward home he went