memory only works one way.
And all the space there has ever been
– the up, the down,
the going along with it,
the each horizon hung like guns side-by-side,
exists right now.
And all the times,
from the universe’s kikwooosh to its ffphutt,
and the day you’ll hear wood pigeons bird-purring
in a corner of cold forest, or that infatuated summer
lit by the sting of sand-hot towels after sea dips,
or a December of soups by candlelight,
or a coastal-road to yourself on some grass-bright day,
also exist right now.
‘Imagine an infinitebig block of 4D called reality’
physics papers explain,
and what they really mean is think of your life
as a line in pre-existing space/time,
like a tinsel-strand in a birthday jelly.
Someone wrote your beginning on a form.
Tom Sharp grew up in a village called Hammerwich. It was haunted by Gabriel’s Hounds. One day people dug a field and discovered a hoard of Saxon gold. Poems are spells. Everything he writes is true. He is a multiple award-winning Creative Director of The Beautiful Meme, a creative studio in London, and a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts.