What went before is hidden from our eyes.
For even if the whole were still intact,
the overwhelming detail would give rise
to madness seeking pattern from each fact.

What goes beside is more than we can know.
For even if the whole were open views,
each stream each sense accepts would overflow
to floods obscuring all the helpful clues.

What after comes is less than we might wish.
For even if the whole were at our beck,
discarded moments garnish meager dish
to underscore each unrecorded trek.

Each what I seem to be can only be
an always partial sum of what you see.

- Robert Stone, 13 March 2011