Reality is not what it seems

Am I my body? Am I my pain?

Look back at a feint siesta

With nostalgia for a time
On the past that is living now but

Inaccessible to me

That is not a ghost but
A living thing as real as

The past was real at the time

Is now somehow breathed in the air of a
Future unsent but unsealed

That breathes back to me stranded here 

Constantly in the now that knows no limit
But can never be found as it 

Spins me round its vortex in

A hundred overlapping ways that cancel
Each other out in a loud crash as 

Silent as the big bang must be all these 

Years ago again in my mind eye.