THE CANNON

Standing by the old army cannon,
linear time visually shifting.
I'm drawn here again to touch the past,
my hands resting on metal:
an organic sensor. Through it
I'm back there in the thick of battle,
dodging the explosions all around me.
Been here so many times I'm part of it all -
will probably physically cross the barrier one day
and be generations back, on the Continent...

I'm in military uniform, firing at the enemy.
The noise is deafening, the fear overwhelming...

No one notices me standing here -
I'm already fading into the history books.
Only a lone gull is curious and approaches
the strange time-traveler only partly here.
The ether shifts around me, above me,
but I am utterly still. Observing the wraiths, listening
to the muffled shouts, until I feel dizzy.
Then I shake my head and push them back.
And I am, once again, alone.