The Telepathy Of Time Travel Poem by Patti Masterman

A boy in a bright blue hoodie
​i​s on the shoulder of the freeway​
apparently walking, though the cars
​p​ass by so quickly, he is only a blue blip
​o​f morse-​en​coded flesh; not even a whole letter
of stranded dna.
A still-life with backpack, headed who knows where,
with eternity to get there​. ​
​A​​lmost gone before he's seen,
a wrinkle of memory never made.

He passes for what's art
on this bric-a-brac highway
of floating food wrappers and broken lighters.
What mourners left behind
in the echoes, of his closing a door?
What sighs of relief, in absence the paranoid paroxysms of delusion?
Sometimes grief is really a circumspect joy
on this telepathic road, of secrets through time.