The Vanishing Point

Did I lose you in the glare of day?Or at nightfall?Did I look away?All things happen once or not at all.What path do you now trace, my lazy mote, my lightning bug?What unthinkable invention rendered commonplace By your mazy motion?A golden hour swept us up, all perturbation and potential, And in its wake a coruscating vision plays Of past and future blent:There must be a second crepuscular place-silver perhaps, and still.Wait for me there, where all things come to rest.