Déjà Vu

by Peter Bloxsom

       Then, now — perchance again!...
  O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
                   — D. G. Rosetti

When in the reborn mind the old clock stirs,
the past reprised in what the present brings —
when from the calendar’s recursion springs
the tendril of inexorable hours
(this is the house, I know it well, and this,
this is the room, wearing the look it wore,
and these the lips I bent to kiss before
in just this instant, with this very kiss) —
then we traverse anew the selfsame track
which knows no east or west, no north or south,
unconscious how we serve again, again,
a sentence without end, re-looping back
to birth, as Ouroboros, tail in mouth,
closes the circle one more time; and then...

Peter makes websites for writers and others: http://www.netpublish.net/