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There is so much that we do not see,
as though we are walking on water unaware.

We sit here now and watch the flickering film of us then.

Our bodies flow through time like water down a course,
like mountain streams slipping to the great sea.

But what of our minds, our observant eyes that barely see?

Was that happy person really you?

I know it was.

But I know, too, it was not all of you.

The physical image, the smiles, they belie the torment.

So much is hidden behind our eyes, beyond moments in time,
in the silent expanse between the flickering then and now.

The tides ebb and flow, and ebb and flow again.

There is so much that we do not see,
as we pass across the water.


An author and historian, Patrick Wolfe lives in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada.

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