In this Universe can we see some of what was real, a picture perhaps, a still-life where a moment went without passing and it is done, nothing to change except perfection. A sight so fine, no line misplaced, to linger on will require such a steady pace that long before you have seen enough and wanted more to fill your temporary escape, there comes a little sleep, a big time urge to eat what can only take you away and on your return you find a picture finished and alone without a hand to fiddle away that little scar, a blemish so unique, so personable, it takes away every chance of there being another. I contend you have seen this Universe, where you would not live, perhaps on a visit so brief, to say it was fleeting; its way too quick to recall and stamp a memory as real. You may ask yourself was that real? Was that a glimpse of another Universe? Or you may just wish it just so.