Metaphysics

Reality is a nasty habit. 
It keeps on getting worse.
Time is an addiction.
A cradle and a hearse.
All things moving forward
from Pandora’s box
to Queen Anne’s purse.
It is like a dream in reverse.
Then I awake and you are there
I feel the sky lift and open a book.
Momentous wandering ended where
The physics isn’t real, in the shadow
Of a fire escape, over a basement stair.
Face in flickers of matchlight. The stare.