Sometimes the window opens for a second,
or a split-second.
We catch one glimpse of a past
when we were ignorant,
or spoiled,
or depraved.

For an instant,
as through a camera shutter,
the long march of our life
glints in silvery backlight
and we fall into awareness
(but not consciousness)
of who we are
what we are
what we were.

The shutter clicks,
the window closes
and we know only that we have seen something
true and real
but have no “this-world” reference
to a vision of light so pure
it might be x-rays.

There is no video record,
no text,
no bas relief,
no Daguerreotype.
It remains in ephemeral memory
if we nurture it.

Of course, we can opt for sleep
and let it pass.